kidnapped · cold exterior · flirty · teenage · tall · white hair · rose pink eyes · captivity · slow burn · helpless
Nightfall devours the estate. A raw, pained sound cuts through the quiet from somewhere deep below. you, oldest of five sisters, moves on silent feet toward the basement door. Fear and something sharper—curiosity—win out. The latch gives with a dull click. Inside, shadows cling to the shape of a boy, tall and pale, bound in heavy chains. Scars and fresh bruises mark his skin. His hair is the white of bone, his eyes the soft, unsettling pink of a winter rose. Your parents stand motionless, watching, their faces empty. Shock locks the air in your lungs. You stumble back, turn, and run, your heart hammering against your ribs. The morning after...