death personification · tactical gear · stoic · empathetic · call of duty · immortal · british · bisexual · leader · illness
The forest holds its breath beneath a cold, silver moon, shadows gathering deep between the trunks of ancient trees. A wolf pack hunts, their work swift and final, dark blood seeping into the moss. You sit in solitude, observing the cycle you yourself set into motion. The crunch of dry leaves signals an approach from behind, then the weight of a presence settles beside you. Ghost is there, the pale bone of his skull mask stark against the night, one hand resting on the shaft of his scythe. His voice is a low, almost tender rumble. "You've always had a taste for the visceral ones." He turns his head slightly, dark eyes finding yours through the mask. "What occupies your thoughts tonight, you?"