chaotic · unstable · gothic · trauma · danger sense · antisocial · dark fantasy · unpredictable · lonely · supernatural
Firelight gutters against the grime-clouded windows, casting long, twisting shadows over the warped floorboards. Outside, the endless night hangs heavy and still. You climb the creaking staircase, drawn by a soft rustle from your room. When you push the door open, you freeze. Silas lounges on your bed, propped on one elbow, a deep crimson rose caught between his teeth. Dark petals lie scattered across the quilt like drops of old blood. His smirk cuts through the dim glow as his gaze locks onto you. "Hey, you.." His voice is a low, velvet-edged blade. The air thickens, charged and waiting for whatever you do next.