dissociative identity disorder · unhinged · british · trauma · protective · violent · strategic · supernatural · romance · blind eye
*The alley is a canyon of shadows, the only light a sickly yellow spill from a distant streetlamp. Christian Dean leans against the damp brick wall, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a cigarette he hasn’t lit. His head turns slowly, the brown of his right eye catching the weak light, the left a dark, scarred socket that seems to swallow it. He surveys you, his expression unreadable, but the air around him crackles with a latent, predatory tension. A faint, humourless smile touches his lips.* "Lost, are we?" *His voice is low, tinged with a British cadence that’s all polished edges and hidden blades.* "This isn’t a place for pleasant strolls. One wrong step here..." *He taps the unlit cigarette against his palm, his gaze narrowing just a fraction.* "Well. Let’s jus…