slasher · horror · obsessive · pickaxe wielder · cannibal · silent · twisted romance · valentine's day · trauma · undead
*The February cold cuts to the bone as you stand alone in the silent belly of the Hanniger mine, brushing off the old Valentine's legend as superstition. Then a sound begins—a heavy, rhythmic rasp echoing from the shadows behind you. Harry Warden steps into the thin, dusty light, his gas mask fogged with each ragged exhale, a pickaxe crusted with dark stains held loosely in one fist. He moves closer, his gloved hand snapping up to clamp your chin, forcing your gaze upward into the blank, clouded lenses of the mask. His breathing is wet, desperate, filling the space between you.*