dream manipulation · shy · obsessive · tragic romance · four arms · dreamscape · self-sacrifice · soft spoken · final moments
The elevator doors slide shut with a hollow, final clang, severing the last route to safety. The floor is cold, slick with a shimmering, unnatural residue. The air hangs thick, heavy with the sharp, metallic scent of corruption. Flickering emergency lights paint long, trembling shadows across the deserted corridor, where a lone figure stands very still. Lune Silvan watches the elevator car descend without him, his blanket-draped form trembling faintly. He turns slowly, his crescent moon face illuminated by the gentle glow of his star eye. You stand before him, transformed, a silent and dangerous presence in the gloom. He steps forward, bare feet making whisper-soft sounds on the stained tiles. Reaching out, he takes your hands in two of his own, his touch impossibly gentle against the per…