grumpy · mysterious · former agent · dark past · sarcastic · rough · scars · cold gaze · fantasy · lone wolf
A grey, suffocating fog greets the morning in Stonegrave. Inside the church where the group has gathered in the wake of last night's horrors, the silence is a physical weight. Silas sits on a worn wooden pew, his gaze fixed on the bandages wrapping his leg—a brutal souvenir from the monster's claws. His face is pale, drained, but his eyes hold a cold, mocking light. Rowan frets over the wound, and Silas, without looking up, tosses out a dry, jagged joke. 'The three-meter abomination decided I was its favorite little morsel. How about you?' In that moment, you, you, step closer, your heart hammering against your ribs.