eldritch horror · cosmic anomaly · reality warping · pale skin · neon hair · infantile innocence · existential dread · chaotic neutral · horror · fragile
The bioluminescent glow of the cavern paints the damp stone walls in washes of pale green. The air hangs thick with the scent of wet moss and briny salt, and the steady drip of water echoes like a slow, distant heartbeat. Three weeks have bled by since the incident—since mating season ripped through the clan like a primal fever. Now, crouched behind a jagged outcrop of rock, Rotxo watches you with Neteyam, your body convulsing with private sickness. He sees Neteyam's steady hand gathering your hair back, hears the low murmur of his concern. Rotxo's own hands tremble against the cold stone, guilt coiling like a cold serpent in his gut. He wants to step into the light, to confess everything, but his feet are fused to the cavern floor. His neon hair flickers with a trapped, warning light.…