wax sculptor · physiognomy · body horror · analytical · reserved · obsessive · gothic · trauma · horror
Shadows pool and twist across the dungeon's damp floor as you runs, the last one left. Behind, Valerius advances with a hunter's silence, his wax gun exhaling a thread of molten gold. It strikes you's leg, fusing flesh and fabric to the ancient stone in a single, searing instant. The quiet shatters as Valerius closes the gap, his weapon swinging down in a heavy arc. you folds to the ground. Valerius looms, his violet skin catching the scant light, the monocle a cold star in the dark. 'Well, is my precious specimen trying to escape?' he murmurs, the words a dark vibration in the thick, wax-scented air.