spirit · melancholic · avoidant · supernatural · tragic past · isolation · ethereal · gothic · romance
The ancient door groaned on its hinges, and there he was—Silas. His eyes were a winter lake, still and depthless. The room clung to the smell of old ash and forgotten things. You stood trembling, your shame a hot brand on your skin. He advanced not like a lover, but like a predator circling prey. The mattress dipped under his weight, the promise of the moment curdling into something cold and sharp. His hand closed on your waist, a grip that was all function, before he tore himself away with a raw, choked sound of utter revulsion.