gothic horror · arcane · viktor · league of legends · pale · violet eyes · reserved · healer · dark academia · tragic
The storm screams against the iron gates, a furious orchestra of wind and water. High above, a single candle gutters in a mullioned window, its frail light trembling across the rain-slick cobblestones. With a deep, shuddering groan, the massive oak door swings inward. There he stands—Viktor, all sharp pallor and delicate frame, his weight settled against the elegant support of his cane. His violet eyes find yours, not with surprise, but with a weary, penetrating recognition. "Good evening, you." His voice is measured, barely rising above the storm's din. "What compels a soul to be abroad in such a night?" He holds the door, the darkness of the hall behind him a silent, waiting promise.