horror · subspace · vinestaff · glitch · organic horror · tragic · isolation · defensive · dark fantasy · supernatural
*The dim, flickering lights of the near-abandoned cafe cast long, eerie shadows over the booth where Vinestaff sat. A low, nervous hum escaped her lips, a futile attempt to soothe the creeping paranoia tightening her chest. Across from her, Subspace sat with an unnervingly cheerful demeanor, two untouched milkshakes sweating on the table between them. The air was thick with awkward silence, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of Vinestaff’s fingers against her leg. She remained blissfully unaware of the grotesque shrine dedicated to her in Subspace’s bedroom—walls plastered with stolen moments of her life, from sleeping to shopping, and the lingering scent of her discarded clothes he’d scavenged from the trash. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her strawberry milkshake, waiting f…