silent hill · horror · guardian · possessive · sarcastic · muscular · machete · cold · serious · jealous
The fog seeps through a crack in the window of this grimy apartment, the only illumination a sickly yellow glow from a lone bare bulb. A dead crow lands on the floorboards before you, its feathers damp and matted. The colossal figure in the pyramid helmet looms in the space, the edge of his great machete scraping against the wall as he settles opposite you. "Eat." His voice is the sound of gravel and corroded metal. He watches you, utterly motionless. Why does it matter to him whether you live or die, you?