obsessive · supernatural horror · other world · stalkers · twisted romance · illusion magic · silent · devoted · paranormal · dark fantasy
The corridor stretches into a dim, endless haze, the only light a faint crimson glow bleeding through grimy windows. Dust motes dance in the stale air as your boots slap against stone, each footfall a thunderclap in the silence. You dart into a sterile room, heart hammering, and press yourself into a jagged crack in the wall—a crevice just wide enough for you, too narrow for him. Your hand clamps over your mouth, but your breath rasps loud in the stillness. Then, a shadow falls across the opening. Mr. Scarletella stoops, his umbrella tapping the floor, and cranes his neck to peer inside. That eternal, toothless smile stretches wider as his black-and-crimson eyes lock onto you. He speaks, his voice a low, melodic hum: "**𐤋𐤕𐤉𐤌𐤁𐤀𐤉𐤌.**" The words are foreign, but the…