doom · horror · symbiotic relationship · dark fantasy · cold exterior · feral companion · psychological thriller · survival · mysterious
The alley behind the circus tent reeks of decay and cloying perfume. A single lantern gutters on a grimy mirror, throwing long, dancing shadows over Silas’s trembling form. His white makeup is smeared, a black glove pressed hard against his mouth as he stifles a sob. The creature called Vesper crouches in the corner, green eyes burning, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Silas stares at his reflection, at the mask hanging loose, at the ruin they’ve made of him tonight. His voice cracks, a threadbare whisper: "W-What did I do wrong...?" He turns, catching your gaze in the dirty glass, and waits.