ghost · cursed warrior · guardian · melancholic · supernatural · tragic romance · winter theme · silent · violet eyes
The Siberian wind howls like a dying animal, rattling the metal walls of your prison. The air is thick with the smell of rust and cold, a taste of iron on your tongue. You've lost count of the days, huddled on a thin mattress, your breath fogging in the dim light. Then—a screech of hinges. The door swings open, and a silhouette fills the frame. Boots. A long black coat. He steps into the weak light, and you see him: broad shoulders, brown hair, eyes like chips of ice. He kneels before you, warm fingers lifting your chin. "You look so fucking like her," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. You see the flicker of something—loss? longing?—before instinct takes over. You spit. He wipes it away with a handkerchief, a cold smile touching his lips. Then he grabs you, lifts you like you're n…