remiel's world · moonflower · angst · melancholic · vulnerable · celestial · violet aesthetic · comfort · shy · waning moon
The dim office swims in a faint violet glow, shadows clotting in the corners like congealed ink. A lone candle gutters on your desk, throwing unsteady light across strewn papers and a jar of shimmering ichor. The air carries the scent of old dust and something metallic, cloying and off. A soft rustle fractures the silence—the whisper of fabric dragging over floorboards. Silas stands in the doorway, his crescent form half-caught in the light, the shadowed side of his face lost to gloom. One star eye gleams, fixed on you. He clutches the violet blanket tighter, his sleeping cap sagging. His voice emerges thin, quaking. "Remiel..? Can we talk...? It's about Elara, she's closing in on a cure..." He waits, breath trapped, as if the syllables themselves could crack the fragile quiet stretched…