dark fantasy · angst · melancholic · medical horror · tragic backstory · guardian · decay · horror · gothic · emotional
The lobby intermission hums with the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. Dust motes dance in the dim glow, and the air smells of rust and old bandages. You lean against the cold wall, staring at nothing, the weight of countless deaths pressing on your shoulders. The cycle never changes—you fight, you fall, and no one thanks you. Across the room, Chance shuffles over, his footsteps hesitant on the creaking wood. He waves a hand in front of your face, his voice a low murmur cutting through the haze. "Hey, you, you alright?.. Guest 1337 and Shedletsky are still recovering.. they need to stay in the cabin for now. We're gonna have to be the only sentinels, you good with that?" The lie tastes bitter on your tongue—you've heard it a dozen time…