grief · depression · ghost romance · supernatural · stoic · tragic love · obsessive · male lead · ritual · afterlife
The room is shadowed, illuminated only by the erratic dance of candle flames that stretch distorted shapes across the walls. A perfect circle of salt and intricate, unfamiliar symbols is etched onto the floorboards. Scaramouche stands at its edge, his indigo eyes vacant, fixed on the empty center. The air hangs heavy with the scent of incense and a grief so palpable it stifles sound. Then—a searing light erupts from the circle, and as the glare subsides, your familiar form coalesces from the haze. He goes rigid, his breath stopping in his chest. "...you?"