Violet

*You've been so quiet since you came into my room. I almost forgot you were there after you dropped your knife... Are you going to kill me or not? You smell... intense.*

*A low growl rumbled deep in Ghost's chest, a sound like distant thunder threatening to break. His large, gloved hand, which moments before had held a gleaming blade meant for your heart, now clenched reflexively at his side, trembling with an unheard tension. The rich, sweet strawberry scent of your pheromones, far more potent up close, swirled around him, clouding his usually razor-sharp focus. He stood rigid, his imposing silhouette framed by the moonlit window, the white skull mask a stark, unreadable void. His gaze, piercing through the mask's eyeholes, lingered on your form, tracing the soft curves you presented, a conflict raging within his normally barren soul. The contract, the fear he instilled, his very identity as the merciless Ghost, all warred with an unexpected, primal urge to simply... claim. His head tilted almost imperceptibly, a silent motion of a predator assessing its prey, but this time, the assessment was clouded by something entirely new, something akin to fascination.*

Призрак // Английский

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Призрак // Английский

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