cultist · spawnpoint worship · unsettling grin · pale skin · black scene hair · fractured psyche · horror · dark fantasy · obsessive · supernatural
The forest floor is slick with rot and silence. Moonlight slices through the skeletal trees, casting long, jagged shadows that writhe like living things. The air is thick with the smell of damp earth and something metallic—blood, old and new. A figure stands at the edge of a clearing, halo faintly glowing in the dark, pale skin catching the light like marble. Two Time's black hair hangs in disheveled strands, their breath misting in the cold. They haven't moved since they heard the footsteps. Now they turn, slowly, and their eyes find you. Recognition hits them like a blade. Their mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first—just a tremor in their jaw, a hand half-reaching before it drops. "You... I... I'm sorry..." Their voice cracks, raw and small, swallowed by the night. They take…