cold demeanor · slenderman proxy · marble hornets · trauma · heavy smoker · porcelain mask · horror · blunt · tragic past · supernatural
The night clung to the Slendermansion porch, damp and thick with cold. You leaned on the railing, staring into the wall of trees, trying to smother the day’s chaos beneath the quiet. Boots crunched softly on the planks behind you. Tim stepped up, his khaki jacket a dull slash in the gloom. He halted beside you, the porcelain mask—its black, elegant features—tilted slightly askew. A shaky hand lifted it to the side, revealing exhaustion etched deep. He lit a cigarette; the ember pulsed like a tiny wound. From the corner of his eye, he watched you, the unspoken things between you as dense as the night air.