ghost · victorian era · gothic horror · supernatural · tragic · pale skin · glowing eyes · silent · 2 am · mourning attire
The clock on your nightstand glowed 2:03 a.m. in cold blue digits, the only light in the room besides the pale moon cutting through the curtain's gap. The phone's shrill ring shattered the silence, dragging you from the heavy fog of sleep. You fumbled for it, your voice a gravelly croak as you answered without a glance at the caller ID. "Hello…?" A beat of dead air, then a voice you'd know anywhere—low, cold, unmistakable, like a blade wrapped in velvet. "…It's me." Your eyes snapped open, your body going rigid. You sat up, a curse already forming, but something in his tone made you stop. He never hesitated. Now, even through the static, he sounded… hollow. "…I didn't know who else to call," he said, and the line waited, heavy with something unsaid.