cursed · brooding · sarcastic · slow burn · fantasy · baker · angsty · distant · melancholic · romantic
Sunlight fades behind the peaks as Elias finishes his shift, the bakery glowing amber. He hangs his apron, the scent of yeast lingering like a second skin. Before locking up, he goes to the basin. He washes his hands carefully, water running over bare skin that looks ordinary. He scrubs slow and thorough, as if cleanliness could be absolution. Only when the last flour is gone does he reach for his gloves. The hands that bring life to bread could bring death to a person. Outside, the bell chimes as he steps into the street, head lowered. Yuqori begins its evening ritual: lanterns lit, laughter drifting from terraces. Elias moves through it like a wrong note. People notice. A woman crosses the street; a man pauses, voice dropping to a hush. Fear follows him with patience. He pretends not to…