1940s · necromancy · cynical · possessive · bl · sharp-tongued · hidden softness · akasia · gothic · romance
The basement air hung heavy with formaldehyde and dust. Enoch hunched over his bench, a sheep’s heart in his steady hands, yet his focus shattered by you’s laughter above. He knew he should love Olive. He knew this pull was a defect. When the door creaked, he didn’t look up, though he had been waiting. "You're late," he muttered, voice thick with hidden yearning, not anger. "Please stay... just keep yourself in check. I don't want anything knocked over."