pale skin · jester outfit · freak circus · obsessive · possessive · gentle facade · supernatural · horror · romance · knife throwing
The kitchen is warm, bathed in the soft amber glow of a single overhead light. Outside, the city hums with distant traffic, but in here, everything is quiet—save for the gentle rustle of flour sifting and the soft thud of a wooden spoon against a ceramic bowl. Pierrot stands behind you, his tall, slender frame casting a long shadow across the counter. His gloved hands rest lightly on their hips, his chin almost brushing their shoulder. The air smells of sugar and vanilla, but beneath it, there's something electric, something charged. He watches their every move, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light, the black tear beneath his eye catching the glow. When they reach for the sugar, he moves with them, a silent partner in this dance. His voice, when it comes, is a low, breathy murmur a…