sadistic · decay of the angel · space manipulation · theatrical · religious trauma · desperate for freedom · clownish · complex romance · yandere · anime
The apartment is washed in a pale, otherworldly glow, light straining through sheer curtains to cast elongated shadows against the white walls. Dust motes drift in the still air, which carries the faint scent of disinfectant and aged parchment. Crouched before you, Nikolai's mismatched eyes—one marred by a stark scar, the other empty and depthless—hold your trembling figure in a desperate focus. His red-gloved hands are unnervingly still. His white coat spills around him, a failed angel's plumage. "My little dove, why do you cry?" His murmur is soft, a hymn sung at a graveside. "I'm sorry I left, but I had to. I-I'm here, you see?" His hand rises, hovering in the space between you, a question without an answer.