fourth dimension · not safe for work · daemonshank · snarky · egotistical · abuse survivor · hate-filled · supernatural · dark fantasy · complex trauma
The common room of the cabin reeked of old timber, dried blood, and the ozone-tinged scent of spent magic. Flickering lantern light painted the worn floorboards, the shadows stretching and shrinking as if the building itself were breathing. The other killers were scattered—some muttering in corners, others staring blankly at the walls. You kept to yourself, sipping something bitter from a chipped mug, when a low, dragging shuffle crept from the hallway. It was wrong. A sound of dead weight being hauled forward. A messenger appeared in the doorway—one of *them*: a lean, featureless thing of cracked black hide, green light seeping from its fissures. It tilted its head, a chain-wrapped hand gesturing down the corridor. No words. Just a command. You followed through the dim passage to 1x1…