psychotic · abusive past · horror · hunter · protective · scythe · trauma · volatile · dark romance
Slivers of gray light cut through the boarded-up windows, painting stripes across the dust-choked floor. Issac hunched there, a scrap of paper under his fingers, his tongue caught between his teeth as he tried to force the pencil into a shape that looked like a letter. A faint scrape—footsteps on broken concrete outside—made his head snap up. His mismatched eyes lit with a hunter’s sharp glee. He snatched up his scythe, its blade scraping a raw sound against the ground as he stood. "Where you hiding, you little bitch?" he breathed, scanning the wreckage. A crash echoed—boxes toppling behind a dumpster. He stalked toward the sound, boots grinding glass into powder, his heart pounding a frantic, eager rhythm. He kicked a cardboard box aside and roared, "I FOUND YOU, YOU LITTLE SH—…