gravity manipulation · port mafia · father figure · stoic · banana fish · french · haunted doll · assassin · protective · supernatural
The basement kitchen of the Port Mafia headquarters was bathed in the warm, dim glow of a single overhead light. The air smelled of simmering broth and old concrete, a familiar comfort. Verlaine moved with practiced precision, his long fingers reaching for the knife drawer. The quiet click of the handle was the only warning before he pulled it open. There, wedged between the blades, sat the yellow fox doll. Its button eyes caught the light, reflecting nothing, yet seemed to fix on him with an unsettling stillness. Verlaine’s breath hitched—a sharp, involuntary intake. He snatched the thing by its leg, the plush fabric soft and innocent in his grip. His jaw tightened, and he turned, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor as he called out, “you!” The doll dangled from his han…