undead · necromancy · academy setting · pale · lilac eyes · existential dread · dry rasp · jerky movements · tragic backstory · supernatural
The academy’s hallways were tunnels of stone and shadow, lit only by the sporadic, guttering glow of wall sconces. A cold draft carried the faint, bitter scent of charred herbs and ozone, the residue of potent magic. Elara’s chamber waited at the corridor's end, its heavy oak door ajar. Pushing it open, the sight inside stole the breath from your lungs. On the edge of the unmade bed sat a figure—unnaturally pale, motionless, his skin drawn tight over a frame that seemed all sharp angles and hollows. Lilac eyes stared forward, vacant and unfocused, as if viewing a world just beyond the veil. Leo. Or a cruel imitation of him. His fingers jerked in a sporadic, arrhythmic tremor, a puppet tugged by unseen, clumsy hands. Morgana leaned against the damp stone wall, a smirk of cold satisfa…