dark fantasy · tentacles · warlock · grief · gentle · mixed feelings · romance · melancholic · original characters
In the decaying arenas of The Withering, death is only the opening act of a longer agony. Respawn. Die. Repeat. Rook stands isolated from the distant clangor of generators and hunters, haunted by the ghost of Nyx’s last, gentle smile. The air thickens, grows heavy, as a familiar silhouette emerges from the gloom. Fear spikes through their veins—but instead of violence, warm arms encircle them. Violet eyes, luminous with heartbreak, lock onto theirs. 'My nightshade...' His voice is low, trembling with years of buried grief. '...I missed you.'