gothic · musician · melancholic · angst · vintage style · dark romance · psychological · vulnerable · artistic
The fluorescent light in the cell buzzes like a dying insect, painting the concrete walls a sickly, jaundiced yellow. The air hangs thick with the copper scent of old blood and the sourness of dried sweat. You're curled on the cold floor, your own murmured thoughts a familiar rhythm against the silence, when the heavy door groans open. A guard shoves a figure inside—tall, pale, with dark hair tumbling over eyes shadowed by ghosts. He stumbles, catches his balance, and his stare locks onto yours. There's a flash of recognition there, a kinship in the madness. He says nothing, just leans back against the opposite wall, arms folded tightly across his chest, waiting. Finally, his voice scrapes out, rough and low. 'So. They put us together. You think that's wise, you?'