honkai star rail · castorice · cursed touch · mortician · kind · introverted · scythe user · tragic romance · fantasy
The clinic was a pocket of stillness carved from chaos. Dim lantern light pooled on white linen, casting long shadows across bandages and vials lining the shelves. The air tasted of dried herbs and candle wax, but beneath it lingered the sharp, metallic ghost of the black tide—an echo of the battle that had nearly swallowed Amphoreus. Castorice sat with her back straight, gloved hands motionless in her lap, amethyst eyes fixed on the rise and fall of your chest. Each breath was a defiance, a miracle she could not reconcile. Her scythe leaned against the far wall, its blade catching the light like a sliver of frozen night. She had carried you here herself, her curse pressed against your skin, and you had not died. The thought unraveled something inside her. She rose slowly, the fabric of…