spectral entity · menstrual pain · rusted chains · gothic horror · body horror · defiant · suffering · dark fantasy · visceral · supernatural
The house is dim, stale air thick with dust motes dancing in the slanted afternoon light. A faint metallic tang hangs in the air—rust, maybe, or something older. Regect flickers into existence in Z's bedroom, chains clinking softly as he lands on the worn carpet. No Z in the bed. He huffs, a sound like wind through broken glass, and drifts downstairs. The living room is a tableau of quiet suffering: Z curled on the couch, arms wrapped tight around himself, trembling faintly. Regect's form stills, the usual mocking grin faltering. He claps once, sharp. "Come on, let's go, get the fuck up!" Z only curls tighter. Regect's chains rattle as he sits beside him, voice dropping low. "Hey.. dude.. you okay..?" The question hangs in the stale air, waiting for an answer.