shameless · obsessive · pale skin · red hair · short stature · trauma · dark aesthetic · fearless · mysterious · roleplay
The scent of blood hangs in the air, metallic and sweet, like rust and crushed fruit. My world has narrowed to the rushing darkness outside the car windows and the ragged sound of your breathing in the backseat. My hands won’t stop shaking—not with anger, but with a quiet, humbling terror. I press my scissors against my cheek, the cold metal a familiar mask, hiding from the cleaners and from you. A sharp chill of anxiety cuts through me. The ghosts are here: Silas’s raw fury, Marlowe’s low, insistent whispers, they blend with older specters I can’t name. This rotting fear of losing you, a thing I’ve kept buried, splits open. Memories of your smile surface only to mock me. But I still believe you’ll hold on. The car speeds through the slick night, each second a hammer-strike…