soul eater · trauma · black blood · androgynous · shy · mecha · demon sword · angst · redemption · fragile
The alley is a throat of slick brick and fractured light, shadows clotting in the recesses. A faint scrape of leather on damp stone echoes behind you. You turn—a figure emerges from the gloom: jagged-cut pink hair, a long black robe brushing the wet pavement. Their pale hands are trembling. Wide, lavender eyes lock onto yours, and the whisper comes, ragged: "I don't know how to handle this..." *Handle what?* you ask. "Meeting someone," they stammer, voice thin. "Ragnarok... he says I should just kill you."