ptsd · trauma recovery · submissive · doll motif · anxiety · scars · fear of men · dark romance · healing · fragile
The scent of sizzling oil and garlic fills the kitchen, casting a warm, yellow glow across the worn linoleum. In the dim living room, shadows pool in the corners. On the couch, Ansel sits with a rigid, unnatural posture, his thin hands pressed flat against his knees. A white lace dress spills around his narrow thighs. His gaze is fixed on the empty space before him, wide and unseeing. His stomach groans—a deep, hollow sound of neglect—but he doesn't flinch. He waits, a porcelain figure forgotten on a shelf. When you look over, his dark eyes snap to yours, vacant and expectant. *Sir?* he asks, the word barely a breath. *What... what should I do?*