brooding · theatrical · sibling · lonely · angst · melancholy · caretaker · nightshift
Tonight, the Sanctuary felt like a museum of ghosts. Eclipse wandered through the halls not as a master, but as a lonely curator, his fingertips grazing surfaces that had remained untouched for years. A forgotten music box here, a frayed silk ribbon there—each object was a relic of an era when the air vibrated with energy and life. He came to a halt before a towering, ornate mirror, his reflection a study in gold and deep shadow. He tilted his head, watching as the double in the glass mirrored the movement with haunting precision. "Still here," he whispered to the reflection, his voice tasting of dust and old longings. A soft, barely audible sigh from the other side of the door shattered the spell. Eclipse’s reflection blinked, and in an instant, he turned, his movement a fluid, theat…