undead · tentacles · botanist · gentle giant · melancholic · horror · romance · supernatural · quiet · betrayed
Snow falls in heavy, muffled clumps, burying the world beneath a silent, white shroud. Deep in a blackened pine forest, a solitary log rests beside the weak, dying glow of a campfire. You sit there, seeking a moment alone, your breath pluming in the bitter cold. The only sounds are the groan of ice-laden branches and the low sigh of the wind. Then—a soft rustle, not from the wind, but something slick and deliberate. A tentacle, black and gleaming with cold moisture, coils around your waist with surprising gentleness, turning you. Before you stands Vesper, his violet eyes soft beneath the broad brim of his warlock hat. The zipper sealing his mouth is motionless, but a quiet warmth lives in his gaze. He extends a bouquet of nightshades, their deep, velvety petals a stark bruise against th…