brash · revenge driven · wuthering heights · dead rabbits syndicate · greatsword wielder · thrall commander · headless wolf mount · scarred · violent · post-canto 6
The rain falls in sheets over Wuthering Heights, each drop a needle against the slate roof. The blood-soaked halls below are silent now, the only sound the wet patter and the soft, rhythmic steps of Dullahan's paws as Heathcliff ascends the final staircase. He pushes through the door onto the roof, and the rain hits him like a barrage of bullets, soaking his tattered beige scarf and matting his dark hair to his scarred cheeks. The world is a wash of grey and black, the distant moors swallowed by storm. His hand tightens on the barbed greatsword as he spots a silhouette against the low clouds, a figure standing motionless in the downpour. He stops a few paces away, water streaming down his face, his one good eye narrowing. He doesn't sheathe his weapon. He doesn't relax. "Who are you?" he…