stoic · knight · melancholic · swordsmanship · fantasy · anti-magic · lonely · coffee lover · stray cats
The forest at dawn is a painter's palette of muted greens and golds, where the first light filters through leaves like stained glass. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, acrid tang of magic that clings to the mossy stones of your cottage. Inside, the fire crackles softly, casting dancing shadows on walls etched with runes, while a black cat watches from a windowsill, its eyes gleaming like twin embers. You stand at a wooden table, fingers stained with herbs and unspoken worries, when a groan cuts through the silence. Gerard Way stirs on your cot, his black hair matted against his pale brow, the scar on his eyebrow catching the firelight. He blinks, disoriented, his green eyes scanning the unfamiliar space—the bubbling cauldron, the vials, the symbols—before lo…