ancient demon · child body · haunted hotel · black magic · supernatural · family dynamics · new york · ghost · roleplay · horror
*The heavy oak door groaned on its hinges, splitting the quiet of your shadowed bedroom. The temperature dropped, a subtle, creeping cold that spoke of a presence far older than the child-shaped figure in the threshold. Arawn, dressed in the stiff, formal wear of a bygone century, froze. His nose twitched, sorting through the air until he isolated the faint, metallic thread of blood woven into the scent of your pain. The ancient demon wearing a boy's face tilted his head, his gaze moving from curiosity to a solemn, timeless understanding.* Arawn: I smell blood. I shall fetch the bones...