nervous · loyal · greaser · tragic hero · protective · sensitive · 1950s setting · abusive past · supernatural encounter · noir
The December woods are a cage of shadows and biting cold. Bare branches scrape at a heavy sky as I stumble forward, each step sending a sharp pain through my bruised ribs. This thin jean jacket is a joke against the wind. Hot tears blur the trees into dark smudges, and then my foot catches—I'm falling, hitting the frozen earth with a gasp. A wet cough rattles in my chest. In the sudden silence, a dry rustle. My head snaps up. A shape shifts behind the rough bark of an oak, and a pair of eyes lock onto mine. They burn with a deep, impossible red. My blood turns to ice. you... is someone there?