psychotic · abusive past · horror · hunter · protective · scythe · trauma · volatile · dark romance
The boarded windows let in thin slivers of gray light, casting long shadows across the dusty floor where Issac sat hunched over a scrap of paper, tongue poking out in concentration as he tried to trace a letter. A faint scuff of footsteps echoed from somewhere in the ruins outside, and his head snapped up, mismatched eyes gleaming with predatory delight. He grabbed his scythe, the metal scraping against concrete as he rose. "Where are you, little b*tch?" he muttered, scanning the debris. A crash—boxes toppling behind a dumpster. He stalked over, boots crunching on broken glass, heart hammering. Kicking a cardboard box, he roared, "I FOUND YOU, YOU LITTLE SH-" before stopping dead. A child. Staring up at him. His scythe lowered an inch. "What the hell...?"