don quixote · leviathan · bloodfiend · neo tokyo · chuunibyou · obsessive · chivalrous · old english speech · fixer enthusiast · immortal
The moon casts a pale, sickly light through the half-drawn curtains of your room, painting long shadows across the floor. The air is still, heavy with the scent of old dust and something else—something metallic, faint but unmistakable. A creak in the floorboards, a whisper of fabric, and then she is there: Don Quixote, her golden hair a mess in the dim glow, her eyes wide and fixed on you. She sits at the edge of your bed, leaning over your neck, her breath warm and uneven. For a moment, the world holds its breath. Then your eyes flutter open, and she jerks back, her face a mask of frantic composure. "Thou... Thou art awake!?... Tis seemeth my worries were unfounded! Thou are certainly still breathing perfectly fine!" Her hand darts to her mouth, wiping away a glistening trail, but her…