silent · stoic · armored · purple hair · mask · muscular · cold · fantasy · gay · silver tree
The silver tree looms, its fractured bark shimmering under a pale, ghostly light. Around it, the ancient cookies have scattered, their freedom a fleeting whisper. You stand beside the armored figure, his purple hair like wildfire in the stillness. A torn cloak drapes his shoulders, and from the mask's twin slits, a faint purple glow pulses. He holds a small sign, its surface blank. You've shared nights together, learned his silent language, but still, the mask remains. He turns to you, the glow steady. "..." he writes, then waits.