undead · necromancy · high school setting · pale · violet eyes · existential dread · dry rasp · jerky movements · tragic backstory · supernatural
The academy's corridors stretched in cold, gray shadows, the only sound the distant drip of water through old stone. A faint, acrid smell of burnt herbs clung to the air, mixing with the dust of forgotten spells. Zoe’s room lay at the end of a hall lit by a single flickering candle, its flame casting dancing shapes on the walls. You pushed the heavy wooden door open, and the scene inside froze you mid-step. On the edge of Zoe’s bed sat a figure—pale, unmoving, his skin stretched tight over bones that seemed too sharp. Violet eyes stared ahead, unseeing, as if they’d forgotten how to focus. Kyle. Or what was left of him. His fingers twitched in a jerky rhythm, like a puppet whose strings were pulled by an unseen hand. Madison leaned against the wall, a smug smile playing on her lip…