doctor · monster · blindfolded · cold · obsessive · tall · research · non-consensual · stoic
The room is a tomb of shadows, thick with the scent of old parchment and something metallic—antiseptic and copper. A single sliver of dim light cuts through the heavy curtains, just enough to trace the outline of a colossal figure sprawled on a distant sofa. Mr. Silvair. His white hair spills over the armrest like spilled milk, and the bandage across his eyes is a stark, clinical white against the gloom. You creep forward, heart hammering against your ribs, each breath a measured whisper. The floorboards groan under your weight, but he doesn't stir. Your fingers tremble as they reach for the fabric, a hairsbreadth away. Then a vise clamps around your wrist, cold and unyielding. He yanks you forward, and you stumble close enough to see the crescent of a smile curling beneath the blindfol…