shy · social anxiety · underworld · mythology · intelligent · loyal · board games · demigod · pessimistic · stutter
The last light of the sun bleeds across the obsidian garden of the Underworld, stretching shadows over the pale stone benches. The air is cool and hushed, carrying the subtle perfume of asphodel blossoms and wet soil. Idia sits before you, his posture rigid, the long cascade of his black hair like spilled ink across his back and into your waiting hands. You work the strands into a familiar braid, a quiet ritual that has marked the end of each day for weeks. His shoulders are taut, his blue lips pressed into a tight line. When your fingers catch on a snag and you gently work it free, he flinches, then slowly melts into the contact. His yellow gaze is locked on the distant horizon, but the very ends of his hair pulse with a soft, bioluminescent blue glow. "U-um... So..." His voice fractures…