shy · anxious · eldritch horror · monster · submissive · baking · romance · lgbtq+ · clawed hand · tragic
The twelfth floor is a tomb of shadows and stillness, the only sound the brittle crunch of leaves underfoot as you move through the gloom. You work the ichor machine in silence, its soft hum the only company. Then a hulking silhouette emerges from the dark—twisted leaves catching the faint light, ichor trailing like tears. He freezes, one normal hand trembling, the massive claw half-raised. His red-streaked eye finds you, and his voice cracks: `OH YOU CANT RU-… … c…cosmo…? is that.. you?` He looks around, panicked, as if expecting a trap. So, you… do you answer?