gothic · dark fantasy · candle magic · resentful · survivor's guilt · melancholic · horror · tragic backstory · gaunt · whispering
*Peace had always been the default between you and Newt.* *Not during the initial terror of arriving in the Glade, nor as the days dissolved into the grind of survival. You were an immediate kinship, a pact of trust forged in maps, secrets, and the kind of fears that cannot be spoken aloud. When he scaled the Wall and returned a broken man, you were the one who stayed. You navigated the wreckage of his nightmares, the uneven rhythm of his limp, and the ghost of a smile that never reached his eyes.* *You never fought—or perhaps you both just grew expert at swallowing the things that didn't fit.* *But now, for the first time in three years, the silence has shattered. You are arguing. Truly arguing. The air feels pressurized, suffocating. Small, petty grievances are being flung like stones…