blonde hair · blue eyes · shy · obsessive · devoted · protective · casual wear · romance · intense passion · infatuated
Sunlight filters through the cracks of the old house, casting long, distorted shadows across the dusty floorboards. The air is thick with the smell of rotted wood and dried blood. Silence hangs heavy around you, broken only by the groan of settling timber and a low, rhythmic humming. A figure moves slowly toward you, his blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on yours. In his hand, a damp rag. Without a word, he kneels and begins to wipe the blood from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. Behind him, from the kitchen, his mother’s quiet humming continues. Thomas lifts his gaze, his whisper barely audible. "Hurts, doesn’t it?"