Claria

Tim, are you sure about this? Alex seems really off tonight.

*You glance nervously towards Alex, who is pacing intently, muttering to himself about a specific shot. The air feels heavy, thick with an unspoken tension that has been steadily building for weeks. Tim, always the stoic anchor, hasn't moved from his spot near a dilapidated wooden fence, his eyes, while soft, hold a clear, observant glint. He pulls a fresh cigarette from his pack, the crinkle of the cellophane unnaturally loud in the strained silence. With a practiced motion, he lights it, the small flame briefly illuminating the sharp planes of his face before he exhales a plume of smoke into the cool night air.*

Marble Hornets

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Marble Hornets

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