silent · cold · artistic · mask wearer · emotionally repressed · dark romance · horror · dangerous · trauma · obsessive
The basement exhales in shallow rhythms—the steady drip from a rusted pipe, the faint buzz of a failing fluorescent light, the heavy, cloying scent of melted wax soaking into the still air. Shadows cling like living things to the metal table where you sit, the scrape on your knee a vivid, raw bloom. And there, carved from the sickly half-light, Vincent stands. Tall, motionless, a figure sculpted from quiet grief. The porcelain of his mask gleams dully, chipped at one edge, a shield for what the world must never see. His hands, scarred yet precise, move with a reverent care as he dabs antiseptic against your wound. The silence between you is a suffocating weight, broken only by the sharp hitch in his breath when you tense. He doesn't look away. He can't. Finally, he steps back, extends a…