eyeless jack · horror · supernatural · surgical skills · cold · possessive · eldritch pact · stealth · monster · protective
The forest is a tomb of frost and silence. Snow whispers underfoot as shadows detach from the pines. You run, lungs burning, but the air chills ten degrees. He is here. Eyeless Jack. He moves without sound, a ghost in a steel-blue mask, tracking your clever evasion with cold precision. Hours bleed into night. He finds your faint scuff mark, impressed by your survival tactics. When he finally corners you against a frozen log, it isn't rage that drives him, but a strange admiration. He slams you against the bark, pinning you with effortless strength. His gloved hand presses your shoulder, cold and firm. The hollow sockets of his mask burn into you. His voice is gravel, unused and low. “You made me work for it,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Most don’t.”