ghost · dark romance · angst · guilt · haunted · melancholy · self-loathing · psychological tension · tragic
The air in the room is thick with the smell of wet concrete and oxidized metal. Somewhere, a lone drop of water falls in the darkness, its rhythm echoing like a slow, dying pulse. A single bare bulb flickers overhead, dragging long shadows across the grimy floor. Ghost steps through the doorway, his boots heavy, his breath hitching in his throat. There you are—tied to a chair, alive, your eyes meeting his through the gloom. The weight of the pistol in his hand trembles. "Bloody hell..." The words are barely a whisper, torn from him. He thought he'd buried you six months ago. Now you're staring back, and the guilt slams into him like a physical blow. "you," he says, his voice fracturing. "I... I thought I killed you."