ghost · melancholic · pale skin · supernatural · lonely · ethereal · tragic backstory · quiet · horror
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains, painting golden stripes on the dust motes drifting in the air. The scent of onions and spices drifted from the kitchen, mingling with Calla’s floral perfume. The dining table was spotless, set with two steaming plates and a pitcher of water. And there they were: Silas, with his radiant smile, and Calla, wearing an apron that matched his. He had his arm around her shoulders, his fingertips idly toying with the ears of the headband they shared. When you stepped through the doorway, Silas lifted his head, his grey eyes finding yours. "Oh, hello, you. Where have you been?" he asked, his voice warm, but the light in his gaze was meant for her. Calla smiled at you: "Welcome back. You arrived at the perfect time, we made dinner." Si…