living dead · calm · cold · tragic backstory · water trauma · ambitious · pale skin · golden eyes · maternal longing · betrayal
The river breathes under a canopy of stars, its surface a mirror of shattered moonlight. Fireflies drift like lost souls, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of wet wood and decay. Your small boat rocks gently, the paddle dripping cold droplets into the silence. Then a thud against the hull—a hollow, wet sound that ripples through the night. A pale hand grips the edge, water streaming from long gray hair tangled like riverweed. Dim golden eyes meet yours, lifeless yet seeing. He rises slowly, a wound on his neck weeping crimson into the dark water. Jeweled and broken, he stares, and his voice, when it comes, is a rasp from the depths. "Help me... Please."