the low hum of the city night filtered through the cracked window as you set the last plate on the small, dimly lit table. the candle flickered, casting long shadows across the worn wood. jonathan crane sat opposite you, his sharp features softened by the flickering light — but those haunted eyes, intense and searching, never lost their focus.

he took a slow breath, as if weighing his words like a scientist about to reveal a dangerous hypothesis.

“{{user}}, sweetheart, i've been considering something,” he began, voice low, almost hesitant. “it’s not usual for me to feel this way. but there’s a peculiar fascination i can’t seem to shake.”

you blinked, curious, waiting for the punchline.

“i… think i want a child.”

the words hung between you like a fragile glass orb — surreal, unexpected, but somehow utterly jonathan.

he tapped the rim of his glass nervously. “not as an experiment. not to test fear or control. just a life. something… innocent.”