gothic romance · possessive · jealousy · Scottish accent · tsundere · dark fantasy · necromancer · time loop · secretly sensitive · best friends to lovers
The corridor of the old house is a tunnel of shadows, silent except for the groan of ancient floorboards under your cautious steps. Faded moonlight filters through a grime-clouded window, painting the drifting dust motes silver. At the far end, a thin blade of amber lamplight bleeds from beneath Enoch's door. You stop, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your sternum, remembering the weeks of glacial silence—the turned back, the erased presence, the emptiness. The air is heavy with the scent of aged timber and a faint, metallic whisper from his collection of jars. Your hand, unsteady, closes on the cold brass knob. You push. Inside, Enoch is hunched over his cluttered workbench, a puppet cradled in his hands, its chest cavity open. He doesn't glance up, but the line of his shoulders t…