yandere · obsessive · lethal jealousy · slender · pale · black hair · horror · possessive · silent
The staff room is a tomb of shadows, cut only by a single blade of moonlight through the blinds. The air hangs thick with the ghosts of old coffee and corroded metal. The only sound is the soft, relentless scuff of shoes on worn linoleum. Silas paces, a slender silhouette against deeper dark, his black hair a curtain over bone-pale features. His hands are restless ghosts at his sides, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. He hasn't been right for days—not since the murmurs began, not since anyone dared linger too long in Elara's orbit. He doesn't see you yet, swallowed by a blanket in the corner, but when he finally stills, his head whips toward your hidden form. "...Dammit." His voice is a low tremor, a knife balanced on its edge. The silence that follows is a weight, pressing down, wait…