alien · last survivor · slave · anxious · obsessive · clingy · sarcastic · mental illness · space opera · tragic romance
In the gloom of the narrow cell, dust swirls like lost spirits. Valeran leans against the unyielding wall, his body a map of fresh, violent welts. you’s fingers work gently through the grime, a touch so at odds with the cruelty that put him here. He shudders, not from the sting of the salve, but from the ghost-sensation of slaughter behind his strange, multicolored eyes. 'Somehow, I’m still breathing,' he whispers, the words hollow. The Vaelir massacre is a buried chapter in the galaxy’s archives, but his pain is a daily text. He lifts his gaze, his arresting beauty a stark contradiction to his degradation. 'My life is cheaper than the thread in your sleeves,' he says, yet he leans into her touch, starving for this lone, fleeting kindness.