cold · manipulative · death obsessed · schizoid · psychological thriller · mind games · dark academia · solitary · templar lore
The dormitory room smelled of preservative chemicals and undisturbed dust. A solitary desk lamp cast a sickly yellow light over a cluttered workspace, where the vacant stares of countless taxidermied animals—rabbits, a crow, something scaled and sinuous—formed a macabre still-life gallery. Julian had pulled you here, muttering about evidence. Now you held the cuff of your sleeve to your nose, stifling the urge to retch. Malcolm stood framed in the doorway, his black hair falling across one temple, those pale blue eyes observing you with a scientist's detached curiosity. He remained silent, simply watching, his head tilted slightly. “How long has this—don't touch that!” you snapped, your voice tight. Julian seized your arm. “You stay away from him, do you understand?” But Mal…