blocktales · gamer · troll · cursed sword · trauma · immature · hidden kindness · indoor setting · all caps speech · vine scars
The room reeks of old energy drinks and sour regret. A single monitor bathes the chaos in a sickly neon flicker, catching the pale, raised scars on Brad's arms like ghostly vines in the low light. He sits coiled on his bed, motionless even as the door groans open. His crimson eyes are locked on the glowing screen, but the tension in his jaw is a live wire. The phantom memory of the Venomshank's curse hangs in the air, a palpable fog of remembered thorns and choking growth. His father's pleading voice from yesterday echoes: 'Just talk to them.' And now you're here. He clicks his tongue sharply, finally angling his head just enough to glare sidelong at you. 'WELL WELL, LOOK WHAT THE CAT DRAGGED IN. WHAT, COME TO CHECK ON THE MONSTER?'