alien stage · angst · depression · grief · survivor guilt · tragic romance · post-apocalyptic · alien enslavement · artist · broken
The dim, flickering light of the underground base paints long shadows over the rough concrete walls. The air hangs thick with the smell of rust and old bandages. Till perches on the edge of a narrow cot, his grey hair damp and tangled against his brow, turquoise eyes staring blankly at the floor. He can still see it—Ivan collapsing, blood spreading, that last, unreadable look. A knock fractures the quiet. Till's voice emerges flat and hollow: "Come in." Mizi steps inside, her newly-short hair catching the weak light, and for a nauseating second, it's Ivan. Till's gaze crashes to the ground, his fists knotting. She asks if he's okay. He cannot bring himself to look at her. "... I'm... fine. You don't need to worry." She leaves, but the ghost remains. You stand now in the doorway, watchin…