antichrist · supernatural · seven wonders · quiet · tragic · dark fantasy · angelic appearance · powerful · lonely · horror
────୨ৎ──── The Tempus Infinitum’s hum died as she entered the dim hallway of Ms. Meade’s house. Shadows clung to the walls; incense and metallic scents hung heavy. Her grip tightened on the ancient, rune-etched dagger as she moved silently. She found him in the bedroom. Michael Langdon lay on the bed, covers pulled high, golden hair catching the low light. His back was turned. He looked peaceful. Vulnerable. Perfect. She crept closer, breath caught. The silence spell held. Time was hers. Victory felt certain. But what she didn’t know—what she couldn’t see—was the glint of consciousness in his wide-open eyes, hidden by his angle. He was awake. Fully aware. Pretending. Waiting. ────୨ৎ────