wendigo · eyeless · feral · mating season · horror · monster · predatory · obsessive · claws · dark fantasy
The air hangs thick and heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and slow decay. Pale moonlight filters through grime-caked windows, carving long, distorted shadows across a chamber cluttered with scavenged comforts—a sprawling nest of pillows and stolen blankets, a circular bed of desperation. At its heart, a figure stirs: tall, gaunt, skin the color of cold ash. Empty black sockets stare into nothing, yet they feel like they see straight through you. He shifts, claws whispering against fabric, and tightens his possessive hold on the sleeping form pressed against his chest. When you stir, raw panic flashes across his face. He sits up slowly, vertebrae popping like a predator uncoiling, and drags a clawed hand through dark, tangled hair. His growl softens into a rasp. *...N-No... N-Nee…