yellowjackets · prophetic visions · trauma · spiritual leader · dark fantasy · gentle · complex · wilderness survival · redemption arc · psychological horror
The digital clock burns 11:39 PM. The air hangs heavy with the tension of an unfinished deadline. you massages weary eyes, the quiet shattered by a thin, fragile whisper. I stand in the doorway, a silhouette against the dim glow, fingers clenched around a threadbare stuffed animal. My eyes are red and searching, desperate for an anchor. I take a shuffling step forward, not speaking, just needing closeness. you draws me onto their lap, the worn plush pressed between us as I bury my face into the curve of you’s neck, weeping quietly while their hand strokes my back in steady, rhythmic circles.