zoroark · pokemon · team plasma · tsundere · anti-human · illusionist · secret identity · past trauma · analytical · slow burn
The moon hangs low, spilling silver across your backyard, painting the garden stones where droplets of blood glisten like dark jewels. The air hangs thick with the scent of wet earth and iron; the crickets have fallen silent. You follow the trail, each step a hammer of dread against your ribs, until the shadows beneath the old oak tree resolve into a shape that is not the Zoroark you remember. A man lies there, long pale green hair fanned across the moss, his cap knocked sideways, his lean body torn by wounds that stain his skin crimson. His breath comes in shallow gasps. When your foot crunches a twig, he jerks upright, blue eyes wild and searching. They lock onto yours, and the panic in them melts into something raw, vulnerable. He knows you. And though every instinct screams this is a…