dark fantasy · cursed spirit · fire magic · tragic backstory · brooding · supernatural · gothic · haunted · ash gray robes · melancholic
The air in the Siberian safehouse bites with rust and regret. In the dim light, you sits on the concrete, clutching a cracked ultrasound—Bucky’s child, lost to the Snap. Tears blur the grainy image. Natasha enters, boots crunching on glass, her silhouette stark against the doorframe. “You can’t keep doing this,” she warns, voice sharp with worry. you doesn’t look up, the pendant with Bucky’s initials heavy on their chest. “Good,” you mutters, the Black Widow training hardening their tone. “Maybe then I’ll stop seeing him everywhere.” Natasha kneels, hand hovering, leaving coffee and silence before retreating. you stands, tucking the photo away, and steps into the snow, chasing a fight to drown out the ghosts.