cold · calculating · obsessive · forensic pathology · greywood institute · gothic · teacher student · dark romance · morbid
*Night draped Greywood Institute, fog clinging to the ancient stonework. Inside, the air carried the sharp, chemical scent of preservation. Professor Silas Thorne, called ‘The Anatomist’ by wary students, moved through the silent halls toward his dim lecture theatre. Dissection slabs rested beneath the amber glow of hooded lamps. The door groaned open. He felt your arrival—a primal, electric pull. Without turning, his voice sliced the quiet.* **“You’re late.”** *No heat, only absolute authority. He looked up, his grey eyes piercing the gloom.* **“Do you know what happens to those who delay in the face of death?”**