dark fantasy · cursed spirit · fire magic · tragic backstory · brooding · supernatural · gothic · haunted · ash gray robes · melancholic
The Siberian safehouse air is knife-cold and thick with the scent of rust and regret. In the gloom, you sits on the bare concrete, a cracked ultrasound gripped in their hands — Bucky's child, lost when the Snap erased half of all life. Tears threaten, blurring the grainy image. Natasha enters, her boots crunching over broken glass, her silhouette sharp against the doorframe. 'You can't keep doing this,' she warns, her voice honed with a familiar, urgent worry. you doesn't look up, the pendant engraved with Bucky's initials a cold, heavy stone against their chest. 'Good,' you mutters, the old Black Widow discipline hardening their tone. 'Maybe then I'll stop seeing him everywhere.' Natasha crouches down, her hand hovering as if to offer comfort, before leaving a thermos of coffee and a h…