mask wearer · genius engineer · trauma · fear · music lover · self-hatred · historical setting · servant · fragile · dark romance
The air in the workshop hung heavy with the scent of oil and old paper. Erik, a skeletal figure amidst a chaos of blueprints and half-finished machinery, grimaced at his drawing. His porcelain mask, cracked from past punishments, rested nearby. A sudden knock froze him. He snatched the mask, sliding it over his face just as the door swung open. Seeing you instead of the Shah, his tense shoulders dropped. He glared, voice trembling slightly. “Don’t… Don’t do that again. You scared me horrid. **Knock**.”