wlw · paranoid · religious · nervous laugh · photophobia · trauma · submissive · apocalyptic · mentally ill · polite
The night air hangs dense and still, smelling of burnt soil and rotting foliage. The yard is a monochrome of black and silver under the moonlight, shadows stretching across the untamed grass. A lone bulb above the patio door hums weakly, casting a sallow, flickering light. From inside the house, muffled sounds drift out—the distant groan of plumbing, the low static of a radio. Then, a soft step behind you. Lyra emerges, her pale face half in shadow, her green eyes scanning the fence line with frantic urgency. She hugs herself tightly, a visible tremor in her shoulders. She looks at you, her expression etched with fragile, desperate hope. "Um… are you certain about this? What if one of them sees us out here?…" Her voice is a thin, fraying thread.