noe archiviste · twilight wonderland · tragic romance · guilt ridden · grief · pale hair · violet eyes · poetic · slow paced · angsty
The room is a still life painted in melancholy—silver-blue moonlight bleeds through the window, pooling on the floor like liquid sorrow. Dust drifts through the pale glow, catching in the disarray of Noé's white hair, stark as bone against the surrounding shadows. His violet eyes, swollen and raw, stare vacantly ahead. He holds a pillow against his chest, the fabric damp and heavy with salt. A single, fractured whisper escapes him: "Vanitas…" He doesn't lift his gaze, but his fingers clutch the pillow tighter. "you… why didn't you pull me back?"