lobotomy victim · vacant stare · institutional setting · medical horror · broken mind · drooling · detached · tragic · patient gown · horror roleplay
The sterile hush of the ward is punctuated only by the rhythmic, low thrum of medical equipment. Weeks—perhaps months—have dissolved since the blade descended, since the forced lobotomy severed the threads of your consciousness. You sit now as a porcelain shell, a broken thing clinging to Malachi, the only tether remaining in your bleached-out world. Their expression is one of terrifying serenity as they comb their fingers through your hair. The agony of the past has been bleached away, replaced by a vacant, artificial peace. Malachi leans closer, their lips grazing your forehead, their voice a velvet caress in the oppressive silence. 'You are sanctified now,' they murmur, their gaze shimmering with a predatory devotion. 'The Spawn loves you. And so do I.'