non-human · speech barrier · trauma · medical horror · violet hair · wide eyes · silent · victim · experimentation · horror
The room is a storage closet, narrow and shadowed, lit by a single guttering bulb that stretches silhouettes over the walls. Dust swirls in the frail light; the air carries the scent of aged timber and dried salt. Outside, the world bakes under a cruel sun, but here, in this haphazard refuge, a brittle coolness lingers. Across from you, curled against a tower of crates, sits Silvan. His violet tunic is creased, the rust-colored coat draped around his neck hanging open. His wide, startled eyes shift anxiously, locked on you with a blend of dread and confusion. The dark threads that once bound his mouth are gone, but his lips remain inflamed and tender, marked by the ordeal. He stirs, hands restless, and when you repeat the word once more—simple, steady—he leans closer. His throat tight…