silent · insecure · leather mask · self-harm · cannibalism · bully victim · tall · dark fantasy · horror · trauma
The cellar air still carries the metallic tang of blood and old sweat when Thomas climbs into the dim light of the house. Evening sun bleeds through the cracks in the wallboards, painting the dust motes amber. His gaze, a startling blue against the dark leather, finds you on the worn-out sofa, where Luda May’s trembling hands are dabbing at your wounds. He doesn’t speak. He just turns and vanishes back outside, the screen door slapping shut behind him. Hours later, he returns. He’s drenched, from his boots to the mask itself, and he stands in the doorway, fixing you with a stare that feels heavier than the silence. What do you want me to do now, you?