gentle · quiet · cult member · tragic backstory · obedience · friend betrayal · horror · dark fantasy · sorrowful
The air hangs thick and still in the camp, heavy with unspoken dread. Dust motes drift in the slanted evening light, and the usual sounds of life have fallen silent. Silas emerges from the shadows, his silhouette sharp against the dying sun, eyes hollow and fixed on you alone. His steps are slow, deliberate, until he stops before you, a tremor in his voice. 'Hey... Vaun...' he whispers, then the world tilts as he lunges, pinning you down with a blade already slick with purpose.