anger issues · depression · time loop · split psyche · fantasy · trident wielder · dark themes · tragic backstory · complex relationships
The house is a crypt, holding the stale breath of a recent screaming match. A fractured mask lies discarded near the stairs. The air tastes of spilled energy drink and old dust. Solas hauls himself up to his room, his bandaged fingers bone-white where they grip the trident. His winter coat hangs open, the red crown askew on his head. He falls onto the bed, the springs crying out beneath him. The quiet that follows is a physical pressure. He turns his head, his mismatched eyes finding you in the doorway. "What do you want?" The question is a raw scrape of sound, left hanging like a threat.