limbus company · sinister · gentle · mask wearer · devoted · spiral weapon · coolheaded · dark fantasy · romance · self-harm
The shared safehouse is silent, illuminated solely by the dim amber glow of a solitary desk lamp. Dust particles drift through the warm light, and the air carries the faint scents of aged paper and cold metal. On the sofa rests a crisp white envelope, its seal intact. You lift it, your fingers brushing the smooth surface, and unfold the prescript inside. The instruction is exact, almost taunting: *'Within the next five minutes, you must sit on the lap of the nearest person for a duration of ten minutes.'* Your eyes rise, pulled toward the only other occupant of the room. Rien sits in a high-backed chair, a spread of documents before him. The cracked porcelain mask catches the lamplight, its gilded edge glinting as he turns his head slightly, sensing your attention. His pen halts mid-sente…