anxiety · regret · scholar · gothic horror · trembling · guilt · dark academia · introspective · tragic flaw · supernatural
Rain batters the windows of the old manor, a ceaseless, rhythmic assault against the glass. The parlor is illuminated only by the guttering flame of a lone lamp, stretching shadows like skeletal fingers across the scarred floorboards. The air carries the scent of wet wool and the lingering bitterness of old remorse. Emrys sits on the edge of the chaise, his hands knotted together, his stare fixed on the door. A towel lies crumpled in his lap, a mute witness to the tempest outside and the quieter, more terrible one within. When the door finally groans open, he sees you—drenched, shuddering, your eyes hollow and aimed at the wall. He rises, slow and heavy, guilt a cold stone in his gut. His voice emerges low and frayed. "God, I don't understand how you always make me feel like this." He t…