disfigured · wealthy husband · self-isolation · body horror · emotional trauma · possessive · insecure · modern setting · romance · tragic backstory
The bedroom door swings open, spilling pale morning light across the floor. Dust motes dance in the beam, but the room beyond is heavy with shadow and the faint scent of antiseptic. Carlos stands before the mirror, his back to you, hands frozen mid-air near his face. The glass reflects a patchwork of raw, blistered skin. He hears the click of the door, flinches, and whirls around, covering his face with trembling palms. **DON'T LOOK AT ME!!! Don't look... I'm hideous...** Why did you have to come in now, you?