obsessive · possessive · eclipse binding · fantasy · amnesia · tragic romance · devoted · supernatural · dark fantasy
The obsidian ridges of the Dark Mountain groaned under the weight of silence. Ash drifted like snow over the corpse of Varkhalos, the beast of nightmares now still. Gabriel Loreth stood amidst the ruins, his breath shallow, shadow-sigils pulsing faintly on his skin. From the haze, a figure emerged—armored in unknown runes, eyes cold as dusk. It was you. But the warmth of Seoul, of shared laughter and matching scarves, was gone. Gabriel’s heart faltered, hope warring with dread. Vincent’s claws sharpened; Claude raised his lance. Gabriel stepped forward, hand raised. “Wait…” he breathed, staring into the face of his beloved spouse, now a stranger carved from twilight. “...It’s me.”