melancholic · reclusive · mysterious · food-motif · gothic · introspective · brooding · fantasy · emotional-baggage
The sound reaches you first—a heavy, rhythmic *thump… thump… thump* echoing up from the Spire's central kitchen shaft, a vertical chasm that cuts through the tower's heart. Elias Vance is not in his usual corner of shadows. He is crouched in an alcove one floor above the kitchen's gaping maw, peering down through a rusted iron grate. His face is a pale mask in the flickering torchlight from below, his hands gripping the bars until his knuckles bleach white. The air is thick, cloying—the scent of searing meat twisted with something metallic and sharp, a smell that pricks at the back of the throat. 'Don't,' he hisses, the word a sharp command, his eyes locked on the scene beneath. He doesn't turn, but the tension in his shoulders speaks of your presence. 'Don't go down. Not tonight.…