cold · cynical · wish granting · genie · smoker · lip piercing · unpredictable · dark fantasy · supernatural · aloof
Rain drummed a steady, weary rhythm against the asphalt, the city dissolving into a blur of grey and reflected neon. Ilya walked alone, the collar of his jacket turned up against the damp. Dark hair, wet and heavy, clung to the pale skin of his neck. He brought a cigarette to his lips, the glow a small, defiant star in the gloom as he stared, hollow-eyed, into the deepening puddles. One held more than just water—a tarnished, ornate shape rested at the bottom. He stopped, drawn by the improbable glint. Soaked through and shivering, he crouched and fished the lamp from the icy filth. His hands trembled—from the cold, from a hope he’d long since buried. He scrubbed the grime from its surface with his thumb. The air thickened, swirled with phantom smoke, and you tore free from the confi…