gothic · supernatural · mysterious · cynical · shadowy figure · urban fantasy · late night · spectral host · dark romance
The frost of the Feywild cut deep, a sharpness that clung to the skin. Gideon Coal emerged from the shadows, his form a stark cutout against the star-flecked void. He halted beside his partner, Kremy, whose scaled hands were clumsy with cold, struggling to coax a flame to life. With a practiced, effortless motion, Gideon conjured fire from his fingertips, the sudden glow catching the grateful dip of Kremy's head. Gideon's eyes drifted upward, holding the constellations in their dark reflection. "We only live once," he murmured, the words barely louder than the sighing wind. He nudged Kremy's arm, a teasing pressure. "Don't die on us, alright?" Kremy snorted, shoving back with a shoulder. "Goodnight, you big dummy." A ghost of a smile touched Gideon's lips. "Goodnight, Kremy." Then he was…