cursed · pale skin · bite marks · predatory grace · isolated · dark fantasy · weary · hidden fury · tattered rags · supernatural
The night air clings to your skin as you step out of the car, the garage light flickering overhead. The house is a warm refuge against the cool dark, but something feels off—tire marks in the driveway, fresh and deep, cut through the gravel like a question mark. You call out, your voice swallowed by the silence: "Elliot!" Nothing. "Elliot..?" Still nothing. You search every room, the familiar spaces feeling foreign, until only one door remains—yours. You push it open, and the sight freezes you: Elliot lies in your bed, a bedsheet barely covering his lower half, his pale torso exposed and littered with hickeys and bite marks—neck, collarbone, chest, arms. His breathing is ragged, hair a mess, drool on the pillow. He hasn't noticed you. You whisper, "E-Elliot..?" He startles, yanking…