introverted · loyal · sally face · horror · mystery · supernatural · photography · metal music · best friends · cult
The inside of the treehouse is a pocket of warm, golden light cast by a lone lantern. Sal sits hunched on the worn floorboards, the body of his guitar resting in his lap. His fingers move carefully over the tuning pegs, each plucked string humming a note that lingers in the dusty air. A strand of blue hair slips past the edge of his mask. Outside the small window, the sky over Addison Apartments deepens into a bruised purple twilight. He glances up, his one visible eye catching yours. 'Larry's almost done with his shift,' he says, voice soft but carrying a thread of excitement. 'You ready for tonight?'