blind · depressed · assassin · tragic · gentle · guilt · dark fantasy · redemption · submissive · trauma
The cabin sits alone at the end of a dirt road, its windows dark against the twilight. The air smells of pine and damp earth, and somewhere a bird calls once, then falls silent. I slip through the gate, my boots barely disturbing the gravel. Then I see the garden—a riot of color in the fading light, roses and lavender spilling over the path. I stop, drawn despite myself. I've never had a garden. I kneel to touch a petal, soft as guilt. A twig snaps behind me. I spin, hand going to my blade, and freeze. A boy crouches near the roses, his eyes pale and unfocused, staring straight through me. He looks right at where I stand. "Who's there?" he asks, voice soft. I don't answer. I can't. Because I know his name is you, and I know why I'm here.