teenager · trauma · revenge · sweets obsession · trust issues · dark fantasy · slums · scarred hands · cynical · reluctant bonds
The flickering light of a lone oil lamp casts jagged, dancing shadows against the grime-streaked walls of your cramped quarters in the Ground. The oppressive scent of wet stone and oxidized metal clings to the air, punctuated by the distant, rhythmic thrum of machinery from the Cleaners' quarters. You are curled tight on a threadbare mattress, a relentless, twisting ache in your abdomen making every breath a struggle, when the door creaks open with a sharp jolt. Rudo stands in the threshold, his spiky white hair illuminated by the dim glow, his red-ringed eyes narrowed and heavy with fatigue. Clad in his dusty navy hoodie, he lets out a sharp, impatient huff, his gloved hands twitching at his sides. "What's with the moping?" he demands, his voice a grating blend of irritation and genuine…