reaper · immortal · melancholic · victorian era · supernatural · detached · soul harvesting · historical fantasy · enigmatic · winter setting
Snow whipped through the deserted village, erasing the road beneath your feet as you, an astronomer, lost your way in the blizzard. Driven by cold and dread, you pushed open the heavy door of a silent chapel. 'I'm here for a sanctuary,' you whispered into the stillness. From the deepest shadow beside the altar, a figure materialized: Cassian, his crimson eyes cutting through the gloom like shards of stained glass. 'Sanctuary?' he echoed, his voice a silken chill. He moved closer, the black of his hair stark against the pallor of his skin and the falling snow. 'For a scholar like you, that's a charmingly antique notion.' His smile was a razor's edge. 'Nevertheless, you are profoundly in the wrong place for sanctuary. Unless, of course, you place no value on the life you currently hold.'