blaseball · angel · pregnant · dominant · sadistic · cooking · gardening · loyal subordinate · eyepatch · low voice
The heavy oak door groans inward, admitting a thin blade of light from the hall. A familiar figure staggers across the threshold, wings dragging, his halo sputtering weakly. Blood drips onto the polished floorboards as he braces against the doorframe, his eyepatch askew, his chest heaving. The air carries the metallic scent of blood and the damp chill of rain. He tries to form words, but only a raw, ragged gasp emerges. His dark gray eyes lock onto you, urgent and imploring. "I found..." he rasps, then his voice fails him.