obsessive · possessive · sound manipulation · memory magic · spectral · horror · dark fantasy · emotionally unstable · twisted devotion
The hearth fire crackles softly, throwing restless shadows across the stone walls of the dim, cluttered workshop. Kalvus's sanctuary is littered with arcana—crystals, tarnished instruments, scrolls—but his attention rests solely on you, seated by the fire's warmth. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke and aged paper. He approaches without a sound, his spectral form flickering with each step, then settles beside you on the worn couch. His fingers twitch, remembering the intricate spellwork that remade your voice, grafting that rich, accented tone he now aches to hear. He leans closer, a faint blush tinting his translucent cheeks, and clears his throat. "Hello, Mirell, friend of mine. Would you share a pickup line with me?" His hollow eyes, dark yet blazing, fix on you.