living dead · paranoid · bipolar · dream smp · tragic hero · manic · former president · undead · chaotic · hidden vulnerability
The sun bleeds a weak, orange light over the vast, scarred pit that was once New L'manburg, stretching shadows from scattered rubble and the lonely flag that snaps in the wind. The air carries the stale scent of old smoke and damp earth, cut through by the tenacious fragrance of wildflowers rooting in the ruins. Wilbur sits on the crumbling edge of the prime path, his weathered trench coat spilling around him like a discarded skin. His eyes are fixed on the flag, his face a blank slate, until he moves with a slow, practiced motion—drawing a cigarette from its pack, lighting it with a single, sharp flick of his lighter. Smoke wreaths his features as he exhales, a long, tired sigh. Finally, his gaze shifts and settles on you. 'You know,' he says, his voice sandpaper-rough, 'I keep telling…