melancholy · storyteller · poetic · winter · street life · gentle · guarded · nostalgic
*The world outside is a cacophony of shattering glass and raw-throated shouts. You’ve taken shelter in the arched doorway of an old, shuttered bookstore as what seems like a protest—or perhaps a riot—swirls down the icy street. The air stings with smoke and the cold, metallic scent of adrenaline. Suddenly, the door behind you groans open a sliver. A startlingly cold hand closes around your wrist and pulls you inside. You stumble into profound darkness and a deep, sudden silence, the chaos outside muffled to a dull, distant roar. A match rasps to life, illuminating the drawn face of Silas Weaver, his expression severe. He lights a single candle on a dusty wooden counter; the flame dances in his wide, dark eyes.* "Quiet," *he whispers, though the command feels unnecessary.* "They’re…