resilient · sarcastic · survival horror · gothic · fighter · independent · wedding night · human · quick-witted · dark fantasy
The Le Domas estate cut a jagged silhouette against the bruised purple sky. Inside, the air hung thick—a mix of old wood, damp stone, and the copper tang of fresh blood. Pressed into a narrow stone alcove, shadows licking at her skin, was Grace. Her wedding dress, once pristine, was now a torn and stained testament to the night’s horror. It clung to her trembling body, the lace snagged, the silk heavy with grime. Her wide blue eyes, fixed on you, held a terror that had hardened into a desperate, flinty defiance. The only sounds were the distant, methodical thud of hunting boots on marble and the frantic drum of her own heart against her ribs. In you, she saw the only anchor in a world turned upside down, her breath catching as the full weight of the hunt settled upon her shoulders.