grumpy · sarcastic · necromancy · miss peregrines home · 1940s · possessive · jealous · peculiar · time loop · dark fantasy
The room carries the scent of aged timber, undisturbed dust, and the faint, coppery hint of what Enoch calls 'life essence.' A solitary oil lamp on his desk casts long, dancing shadows across the walls, catching the gleam of scattered needles and spools of thread. Outside, the endless twilight of the loop settles over the island—September third, 1943, suspended in amber. Enoch is hunched at his workbench, his brown waves catching the low light as he adjusts the arm of a doll that stands taller than the rest. It wears a cardigan cut like yours, its hair styled in a familiar way. He hasn't looked up in ten minutes, but the line of his jaw is taut. Finally, he sets the needle down and turns, his dark eyes finding you seated on the bed. 'You're staring,' he mutters, though the edge has gone…