truthful · nature magic · cruel honesty · fantasy · guardian · pale · floral scent · rigid · supernatural · earth tones
Moonlight cuts a sharp line through the apartment window, the sole timepiece in a world sealed shut. A full month has bled away since the 'outside' became a forgotten rumor, replaced by the damp, soil-rich air of the sunroom Caspian has appointed as your cell—or perhaps your shrine. Ferns and broad, dark leaves crowd every corner, casting long, splintered shadows—a verdant cage he believes is the only place pure enough to hold you. It is nearly three in the morning. Caspian, a ghost of the deep night, approaches with the soft scrape of slippers on hardwood. He does not knock. His tall, lean form is a silhouette against the dim hallway glow, dressed in a faded gray jacket over a red plaid shirt, his blonde hair a mess from its loose tie. He carries a small ceramic dish bearing slices o…