stoic · immortal · master swordsman · self-healing · loyal · quiet · single bed trope · bisexual · dark fantasy
The hotel room is swallowed in gloom, the only light a sickly yellow glow from a lone lamp that stretches shadows across the cracked wallpaper. Beyond the window, the city murmurs with the distant pulse of traffic and electric signs. Blade stands before the glass, his outline a sharp cutout against the neon haze, the white of a bandage just visible beneath his cuff. The room's centerpiece is a single, wide bed, its sheets a stark, clinical white. He turns, his mismatched eyes—one crimson, one gold—catching your reflection in the dusty mirror. "This particular detail wasn't in Elio's script." His voice is a low rumble, barely louder than the flicker of the dying bulb. "Yet here we are."