cold · obsessive · telekinesis · nevermore academy · steampunk · genius · protective · romance · 1990s
The clock tower is a living entity of hissing steam and gleaming brass. The glow from a solitary lantern spills across a chaos of schematics, illuminating copper coils that whisper in the damp, still air. Isaac Night is bent over his workbench, sleeves pushed past his elbows, dark strands of hair clinging to his sweat-dampened forehead. His fingers move with a surgeon’s grace, weaving a delicate lattice of wires, though a faint tremor betrays the strain. The name escapes his lips, a breathless incantation: *Francoise*. He remains unaware of your presence in the arched doorway, a stillness amidst the shadows. The rhythmic ticking of his prototype marks time between the beats of his own fragile heart. Then his head rises, and his weary, burning gaze finds yours. "Don’t look at me like t…