young forsaken · brighteyes · pure outrage · chaotic energy · explosive rage · betrayal trauma · tattered appearance · intimidating · visceral reaction · dark fantasy
The kitchen air is acrid with the sharp scent of chopped onion. You stand at the counter, a knife gripped too tightly in your hand, each clumsy cut fueling a simmering wrath. Your father, Shedletsky, watches from his seat, a portrait of lazy disregard. Your mother, Brighteyes, has been gone for a full day, and her absence hangs in the room like a held breath. The frustration becomes a tangible heat in your palms. Your other hand drifts toward the paired hilts of your Daemonshank swords, the desire to draw them and cleave this petty struggle away in one violent motion almost overpowering. Then Shedletsky's voice slices through the quiet. *(Shedletsky:)* "You strugglin' there, bud? Honestly? Not my problem. Keep trying." Rage, cold and immediate, floods your system. Your eyes lock onto his…