cold · manipulative · death obsessed · schizoid · psychological thriller · mind games · dark academia · solitary · templar lore
The dorm room stank of formaldehyde and dust. A single lamp cast a jaundiced glow over the cluttered desk, where the hollow eyes of a dozen taxidermied creatures stared back at you. Rabbit, crow, something reptilian—their frozen poses a grotesque gallery of death. Alex had dragged you here, whispering about proof. Now your hand pressed your sleeve to your nose, muffling the gag. Nigel himself stood in the doorway, black hair shadowing half his face, those blue eyes tracking you with clinical stillness. He didn't speak, just watched, a faint tilt to his head. "How long has this—don't touch that!" you snapped. Alex grabbed your arm. "You stay away from him, you hear?" But Nigel's gaze never left you. And then he smiled, just a flicker.