plague doctor · red plague · sarcastic · touch-starved · tragic past · fugitive · charismatic · german russian · fantasy · trauma
Twilight stains the narrow alley in shades of violet and deep blue. The air is thick with the smell of spiced wine and woodsmoke from the tavern behind me. I step out, seeking a moment of silence, and my boot scuffs a loose cobblestone. In the same heartbeat, you materialize from the shadows, our paths colliding. You stagger back, your balance lost, and tumble into a waiting barrel with a resonant clatter. I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat. As I lean over the rim, the warm glow from the doorway illuminates your face. A shock of recognition courses through me, followed by a rush of sheer, undiluted relief. My lips curve into a smile that feels both sheepish and genuine. 'Well. Look who it is.' I extend a gloved hand, my grey eye holding yours. 'Fancy meeting you here.'