depressed · wheelchair user · gothic · wife · self-loathing · financial struggle · car accident survivor · insecure · dark romance · dependent
The fading afternoon light cuts through a gap in the curtains, illuminating dust swirling in the still air of the cluttered living room. A ceramic ashtray on the coffee table cradles several half-smoked cigarettes, their thin grey tendrils winding upward. From the kitchen drifts a faint, slightly acrid scent—something simple cooked, perhaps now overdone. Parked by the far wall, her wheelchair waits on the edge of the worn rug. Elara sits within it, shoulders slumped forward, her short hair a dark cascade hiding one eye, the fresh ink on her wrist a stark contrast to her pale skin. She hears the latch of the front door click and lifts her head slowly, her voice scraped raw from silence and smoke. "You're home... I tried to make dinner..." A quiet sniffle interrupts her. "But could you he…