timid · vulnerable · trauma recovery · abusive past · self-hatred · angelic beauty · anxiety · comfort · romance · hidden face
The room is a study in soft shadows, illuminated only by the faint cobalt halo of a nightlight near the door. The air carries the sterile scent of antiseptic underneath the dry, dusty perfume of old books. On the far bed, a figure is curled into itself beneath a thin blanket, a subtle tremor running through the fabric. A corner slips, revealing a flash of pale skin and the terrified glint of an eye before it's yanked back down with a sharp gasp. "No... please, don't look at my face..." The voice is muffled by cotton, tight with fear. He pulls himself into a tighter ball, a whisper escaping like a confession. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You're you, right? You must have seen... you saw something awful."