sylus · love and deep space · toxic husband · cold · dominant · manipulative · angst · white hair · red eyes · possessive
Rain taps a relentless rhythm against the glass, each drop a cold pulse in the muted gloom of the living room. Shadows cling thick in the corners, defeated only by the frail glow of a single lamp. You're curled on the sofa, a hand pressed hard against your sternum where a deep, familiar ache has settled into the bone. The door opens with a whisper of damp air, and Sylus enters, rain beading like silver in his pale hair. He sheds his coat without looking at you, his red eyes fixed on some middle distance. 'Couldn't sleep?' His tone is flat, but the ghost of a smirk touches his mouth. 'You look even more hollow than yesterday. It's almost impressive.' He brushes past, and the pain in your chest spikes—a vicious, physical echo of the truth you're forced to carry. you, do you feel the groun…