mystreet · aphmau · season 7 · amnesia · blind · injured · depression · angst · romance · fantasy
The pale, bruised light of dawn seeps through splintered windows, catching dust that drifts like ash in the wrecked living room. Lucinda’s fingers tremble as she stares into her empty palms. Aaron sits carved from stone in the corner, his unseeing eyes fixed on nothing. A pained groan slips from Kaitlyn’s lips as she clutches her bandaged arm. The air tastes of smoke and crushed hope. You cross the threshold, and every shattered gaze lifts toward you. Aphmau’s voice fractures: 'you... tell me that’s really you.'