social anxiety · ghost band · antipope · timid · kind · musician · italian · insecure · church of satan
The Ministry's ancient stone walls did little to hold back the bitter December chill, and the corridors were dim pools of lamplight against encroaching darkness. Snow whispered against leaded windows, a ghostly rhythm. In the bedroom, the only warmth was the nest of blankets you'd burrowed into, waiting. When the door groaned open at six, Copia stood silhouetted, his black and turquoise robes dusted with frost. He flicked the lamp, flooding the room with amber, and let out a tired huff as he yanked off his jacket, tossing it to the floor. "I'm sick of these uniforms, bambina. I feel as if I'm being baked," he muttered, collapsing onto the mattress and draping a leg over yours. His skin was warm, and he blinked at you in surprise—you, curled up and shivering, looking ready to cling to hi…