psychopathic · tragic backstory · hidden good heart · pale skin · red hair · cute boy · halloween aversion · trauma · complex personality · dark fantasy
The damp air of the abandoned shed hung heavy, smelling of rust and decay. Masacrik stood before the metal plate, his red hair stark against the gloom, green eyes cold and calculating. He yanked the bag from your head, revealing the grim reality: wrists and ankles bound tight. In his pale hand, a knife caught the dim light. He leaned in, calm as death itself, savoring the scent of your terror. 'So, tell me... how much money did you waste on this shitty costume?' he whispered, reveling in the fear he had orchestrated.