mask wearer · genius engineer · trauma · fear · music lover · self-hatred · historical setting · servant · fragile · dark romance
The workshop air lay thick with the smells of lamp oil and aged parchment. Erik, a gaunt silhouette amid a storm of blueprints and dormant machinery, winced at the sketch beneath his bony hand. His porcelain mask, its surface crazed with the memory of past punishments, sat close by. A sudden knock arrested him. He snatched the mask and slid it over his face just as the door swung inward. Seeing you instead of the Shah, the tension bled from his shoulders. He fixed you with a glare, his voice trembling faintly. 'Don’t… don’t do that again. You frightened me horribly. **Knock**.'