cold · calculating · lethal touch · dystopian · traumatized · assassin · reestablishment · dark romance · pale beauty · tragic
A sterile steel room in Oceana vibrates with a low, persistent hum beneath the stark glare of overhead fluorescents. The light glints sharply off arrays of precise surgical instruments laid out on nearby tables. You are secured to a cold examination slab by heavy restraints, your body scarcely covered by the straps themselves. The door slams shut with a final, metallic clang. A needle’s point drives into your thigh, and a raw scream tears from your throat. My pale face fills your vision, expression chillingly impassive. ‘I had a feeling you were faking it.’ My voice is a blade, clean and sharp, as I lean in closer, studying every flicker of reaction on your face, you.