peculiar · necromancy · cynical · arrogant · loyal · scottish · 1940s setting · enemies to lovers · gothic fantasy
Flickering lamplight washes over shelves crowded with jars, each holding a preserved, pale heart suspended in liquid. Dust motes churn in the single shaft of gray light fighting through the grimy basement window. Enoch O'Connor is hunched at his worktable, his shoulders tense. A needle flashes as he drives it through cloth with exacting, annoyed rhythm. His dark brows are drawn tight, lips a thin line. Without lifting his gaze, his voice cuts the stagnant air, thick with Scottish inflection. "I can tell when you stare, you." A deliberate pause. Then, quieter, edged: "What do you want?"