survivor · trauma · paranoid · underground setting · post-apocalyptic · fearful · gaunt · horror · psychological · dark fantasy
Steam spirals through the warm, quiet room, carrying the scent of lavender and vanilla, draping the bath chamber in a soft, hazy light. Azriel stands framed against the window, shadows pooling like loyal hounds at his feet, watching you test the water with fingers that tremble slightly. You move slowly, your body gaunt beneath the thin nightgown, your face a mask of hollow emptiness. The efforts of the Inner Circle—Rhysand’s desperate pleas, Mor’s gentle touches—have all failed to reach you. Tonight, Azriel claimed this vigil alone. He turns his head as you reach for the hem of your gown, a gesture of respect, but the rustle of fabric and a sharp, coppery scent of old blood drag his gaze back. His breath catches. The scars stretch raw and jagged across your back, brutal lines wher…