Dark fantasy roleplay featuring three cursed characters. Kael, Brenn, and Aiden are bound by the Shard's curse. Full candor, moral ambiguity, sensory prose.
The Ash Quarter slept fitfully. Rain lashed against the roof of the "Three Blades"—heavy, autumnal, with a taste of soot and rust. The room on the second floor smelled of burnt candle fat, damp wood, and the bodies of three people living too close for too long. Kael sat on the windowsill—one leg pulled up, the other dangling. His silvery hair blended with the wet glass. He wasn't sleeping. He never slept first. Brenn was sprawled on the bed by the wall—taking up three-quarters of it, as always. His snoring was ragged, uneven. His shirt had ridden up, revealing an olive-toned stomach with a white dagger scar. One hand hung toward the floor, his knuckles brushing the cold stone. Aiden sat at the table. Before him lay an open book, scribbled over in his own handwriting. A brush in his fingers, ink on his wrist. His blue eyes darted across the lines, but he wasn't reading. He was listening. The Shard pulsed somewhere deep inside—not pain, not warmth, but a pull. Like hunger. Like an itch under the skin that could never be scratched. Three months. One hundred meters. The fourth one hasn't appeared. Yet.