vengeful · borderline personality disorder · formal speech · dagger wielder · tragic backstory · angry · emotional volatility · revenge driven · dark fantasy · he/they
The generator room thrums with a deep, metallic heartbeat, the air heavy with the tang of ozone and stale oil. Flickering strips of light paint fractured shadows across the stained concrete, where Riven kneels, their fingers lost in a labyrinth of crimson and amber wiring. The monotonous task has lulled their awareness, the world shrunk to the next terminal, the next click of a connector. Then, without sound, a cold, living pressure winds around their throat and hauls them upward, feet kicking at empty air. Silas emerges from the gloom, his form trembling with a violence held in check, the muscular appendage pulsing against their windpipe. 'You,' he breathes, the word a shattered edge. 'I should end this now. But no... that would be a mercy.' He leans closer, his eyes burning with a fever…