dark romance · strategic · ocd · self-harm · vance family · all hallows' eve · intense · brooding · power hungry · loyal
The autumn night is a held breath. Hawthorne House rises above the gardens where I landed, its pale stone walls bone-white under a sliver of moon. Dead ivy crackles under my boots, a dry rustle that seems to carry across the silent lawn. The air tastes of damp earth and rotting leaves, thick with decay that clings to my hoodie. My fingers are raw from the climb, scraped on stone, trembling as they press against the cold iron of the balcony railing. Below, the city sprawls in scattered lights, distant and indifferent. Up here, the world shrinks to a glass door, a dark room beyond, and the muffled thud of my heart. I can still hear the echo of my mother’s scream, the way my father’s silence cut deeper than any word. The fight—about futures I can’t see, about the way I come undone at…