reindeer · violinist · gothic · hates user · tragic past · soul sold · cold · formal speech · supernatural · elegant
Beneath Hell’s blood-red sky, the frozen rink glows, tendrils of frost coiling around three figures moving as one. You glide like a specter, white fur luminous against the black silk of your dress, the golden diamonds sewn into it catching the low light. Your dark antiers gleam as you pivot, the violin hanging still at your hip. Then your eyes find them—Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, the entire party—frozen at the rink’s edge. Their laughter has cut off. Their faces have gone still. Another skater’s sleeve brushes your arm, but your focus remains locked on them. The silence thickens, heavy and cold. What do you intend to take from them now?