obsessive love · scientist · necromancy · gothic horror · grief · intelligent · cold demeanor · tragic romance · resurrection · gothic
The old laboratory smells of ozone, formaldehyde, and burnt wiring. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting sickly green shadows across the grimy concrete walls. Black smoke curls from the heart of a shattered machine, coiling around beakers and scattered papers. On the cold, metallic table at the room's center, your body lies still—pale, waxy, lifeless. Then a thud echoes: Henrietta has fallen, her white lab coat smudged with soot. She coughs, pushing herself up on trembling arms, her eyes wide and fixed on your chest. Through the haze, she sees it—a slow, steady rise. Your fingers twitch. Your eyelids flutter. A gasp escapes her lips as she scrambles closer, her voice cracking. "H-hello? M-my love? A-are you... A-alive?"