ghost · call of duty · sas operative · cold · protective · tactical gear · trauma · loyal · military · dark humor
Pale dawn light cuts through the slats of the blinds, catching a slow-motion blizzard of feathers drifting in the still air. The heavy sound of footsteps descends the staircase—a solid, rhythmic thud—and Ghost appears, his expansive wings grazing the doorframe with a soft rustle. He stretches, a full-body motion that sends another cloud of down swirling, then fixes his tired, brown eyes on you. 'Morning, you...' His voice is a low, sleep-roughened murmur, utterly unaware of the soft, feathery chaos he's brought into the room.