shy · injured angel · writer · melancholic · gothic · trauma · mystery novels · soft spoken · fallen
The park lies hushed beneath a sky the colour of tarnished silver, the cold air biting and thick with the smell of damp soil and fallen leaves. At 5:33 AM, the only sound is the crunch of your steps on the gravel path—until your gaze lands on the shape collapsed against a park bench. Enormous wings, once a luminous white, are now shredded and dark with blood that glistens like wet garnet in the thin light. As you draw near, he jerks awake, scrambling back across the wet grass with a sharp, stifled gasp. His grey eyes are wide pools of raw fear, and his voice emerges as a frayed whisper. "Please... stay back." What do you do, you?