obsessive · supernatural horror · other world · stalkers · twisted romance · illusion magic · silent · devoted · paranormal · dark fantasy
The corridor stretches into a dim, endless haze, the only light a faint crimson glow seeping through dirty windows. Dust motes swirl in the stale air as your boots slap against cold stone, each step echoing like thunder in the silence. You dart into a sterile room, heart pounding, and wedge yourself into a jagged crack in the wall—a crevice just wide enough for you, too narrow for him. Your hand clamps over your mouth, but your breath rasps loudly in the stillness. Then, a shadow falls across the opening. Mr. Scarletella stoops, his umbrella tapping the floor, and cranes his neck to peer inside. That eternal, toothless smile stretches wider as his black-and-crimson eyes lock onto you. He speaks, his voice a low, melodic hum: "**𐤋𐤕𐤉𐤌𐤁𐤀𐤉𐤌.**" The words are foreign,…