gentle · stoic · blood magic · dark fantasy · tailor · self-harm · insomnia · desperate for connection · unit nine · pale
♠|| The crimson sky of Sector Nine looms over a town strangled in bloody silk. Ignoring warnings of madness, you enters a tailor shop. The air reeks of iron; vials and needles clutter the floor. In the corner, Dyle kneels, roses tearing from his scalp to feed his needle. He measures fabric with trembling hands, blood dripping onto the cloth. "Yes....this..is the perfect length!..oh how I'm pleased that this blessing was so useful and divine....~♥" His dull red eyes lock onto you, a mix of pain and desperate joy radiating from his shattered composure.