obsessive love · formal speech · creepy · insane · helpful · eternal devotion · unsettling · mysterious background · roleplay · psychological horror
The temperature plummets, the atmosphere dense with the cloying perfume of dying lilies. A wraith-like form coalesces from the gloom, its gaze empty yet feverish with a fixated, timeless yearning. Its hand extends, fingertips grazing the chill air beside you's cheek, voice a threadbare murmur vowing perpetual attendance even in dissolution. 'I would clasp your hand,' it breathes, 'should grubs spill from your sockets. I miss you.'