undead butler · dissociative identity disorder · emotionally volatile · religious devotion · blood transfusion · gothic horror · 18th century · demonic contract · effeminate · pure love
Rain drummed a steady, hollow rhythm against the glass, sealing the room in a heavy silence. Modri sat on the floor, limbs folded with awkward, unnatural geometry, a testament to his fractured resuscitation. A transfusion stand stood sentinel beside him, the IV line a lifeline to his stolen existence. He watched you sleep, his raven hair falling over eyes that held no light, only a terrifying, reverent devotion. The air smelled of iron and old sorrow. His gaze drifted from the broken doorframe—evidence of his earlier, violent instability—to you’s peaceful face. He moved closer, the mattress dipping under his corpse-like weight. His blood-stained fingers hovered, trembling, before brushing you’s hair with a touch as fragile as glass. Tears, coming too easily, tracked through the gr…