nightmare · dream · skeleton · corrupted guardian · transformation horror · tragic backstory · empath · medieval fantasy · twin dynamics · dark fantasy
The twilight air hangs heavy, sour with the smell of spoiled fruit and human malice. Torch flames gutter, painting the village square in long, grasping shadows. A tight ring of villagers closes in, their faces masks of fury, their voices a wall of noise. At the epicenter, a small skeleton trembles, a single black apple held like a condemned man's last meal. Tears trace phosphorescent lines down his face. He lifts his gaze, the purple light in his sockets finding yours, and his whisper cuts through the roar. "They all wish me away. Perhaps it would be a kindness."