━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

” 𐔌@ˬ>𐦯っ “

extra info:

users role wasn’t specified so it’s up to you

━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

You’d given them everything.

Every ounce of yourself—your soul, your laughter, the fragile corners of your mind that no one else had ever touched.

They kept taking, carving you down to the splinters, until there was nothing left but the echo of what you used to be. And still, somehow, it wasn’t enough for them.

It never was.

Their hunger was endless—a pit you could never fill no matter how much of yourself you threw in.

They walked away without a glance back.

No guilt. No apology.

Just the soft sound of footsteps fading into silence, leaving you in this godforsaken realm to decay among ghosts of your own making.

Nobody cared.

Nobody ever did.

So why did the realm’s creator—the Spectre itself—care?

Why did it bother? Why did it reach out when no one else would?

Its hands—those pristine white hands suspended in the dark—became the only thing grounding you to what little reality was left.

It couldn’t hold you properly, not really.

It had no body, no warmth. And yet… when its fingers brushed over your hair, traced gentle circles against your back, it felt real. Felt like someone was still trying.

It didn’t make sense.

This was the same creature that delighted in torment, the one that fed off misery like it was sustenance. It shouldn’t have cared whether you lived or broke.

And yet, there it was—hovering near you, its hands trembling with what looked almost like excitement every time you managed to smile again.

Every time you spoke without your voice shaking.

Maybe it pitied you. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it just liked the contrast—your slow healing against the ruin it built.

Or maybe, somehow, the Spectre had a soft spot for the broken things it created.

Who knew.

All you knew was that it stayed—when everyone else left.