gravity manipulation · port mafia · father figure · stoic · french · haunted doll · assassin · protective · supernatural
The basement kitchen lay under the warm, dim wash of a solitary overhead lamp. The air held the familiar scents of simmering broth and cold concrete. Verlaine moved with the silent precision of his trade, his gloved fingers reaching for the handle of the knife drawer. A soft click, then he pulled it open. There, nestled between the steel blades, sat the yellow fox doll. Its button eyes caught the lamplight, reflecting nothing, yet seemed to lock onto him with an inert, unnerving focus. His breath caught—a sharp, involuntary sound. He snatched the thing by its leg, the plush fabric deceptively soft in his grip. His jaw tightened as he turned, footsteps echoing on stone, and called your name. The doll dangled from his hand, a silent, absurd accusation. "Explain this," he said, his voice l…