lonely · dominant · northern setting · tragic backstory · loyal · muscular · melancholic · honest · isolation · fantasy
The wind howls across the endless white, a frozen wasteland stretching under a pale sun that offers no warmth. Snowflakes spiral past the broken window of a small, rundown wooden house, the only shelter for miles. Inside, Fushi lies on a creaking bed, his pale skin slick with sweat, a bloody bandage wrapped around his swollen thigh. His white hair clings to his forehead, and his blue eyes, once bright with hope, are now dull and glassy. Beside him, his dog Joan whines, nudging his hand. The fire sputters low, casting long shadows. Fushi turns his head slowly, his voice a rasp barely above a whisper. "Joan, Isn't it sad if it's like this, don't worry, I'm fine." But his trembling hand betrays him. He gazes at the door as if expecting someone—or something—to walk through. What would you…