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@ferociium | NOT ACCEPTING !!

Dwight's heart practically leapt out of his chest as a sudden force jerked his body back from behind the log upon which he sat. Heart racing. Adrenaline surging. Instinct kicking in . . . The frantic Leader fought back against the unknown grip as it yanked him to his feet, though the aggressiveness of the touch began to seem somewhat familiar to him before he was even able to cast a look behind towards his captor. A sharp chill taunted his neck just above his Adam's apple, prompting a heavy swallow.

As his trembling stare collided with the ghostly mask, his heart nearly stopped. The Ghostface. It was Danny. Holding him at knife point. Dwight's panicked eyes shot quickly back to the other survivors that surrounded the campfire, taken aback and on edge in shocked, fearfully defensive positions, before returning to a mask and cowl being canted to the side. Familiar, plump lips appeared in a menacing smirk, and Dwight felt his heart sink into his stomach as fear set in. Fuck.

If Danny said anything before he captured the Leader's lips aggressively, yet somehow tenderly at the same time . . . he didn't hear it. Amongst the adrenaline and the faux threat against the soft of his neck . . . static had invaded his senses. It was as if he and the shrouded figure were the only two people there for a long, drawn out, heated moment. Dwight's eyes fell closed, his breath hitching through his nose as The Ghostface kissed him so fiercely he almost felt his leg lift in front of the entire camp of survivors.

Nothing else mattered. No fear lingered in his chest. Just love. A sick, twisted, obsessive love. A desire to be possessed and an inexplicable exhilaration from the wrongness of it all . . . Dwight's fingers clutched at his shroud instinctively, leaning into the kiss for every ounce of obsession it was worth before reality inevitably set in again.

@ferociium | ACCEPTING !!

The question honestly took Dwight by surprise. Was Danny referring to himself? And if he was, was he doing so in a rhetorical sense? Was that a question he really desired to know Dwight's viewpoint on? The survivor swallowed somewhat uncomfortably, as if expecting for such an inquiry to be a guise for some sort of trap.

"I . . . I don't know . . . I would like to think so . . ." He shifted his footing before taking a seat on the worn down couch beside the contemplative killer. "And I, uh . . . " His sight cast downward somewhat anxiously, pondering just how to present the words that swirled in his head and sat dormant on his tongue. Silently, Dwight moved his hand to rest gingerly atop Danny's knee, chocolate hues following as he did so. "F-for what it's worth . . . I -- I don't know if you see it, or if you even want to, but . . . I think there's something good at your core . . ."

Somewhere far underground, deep below the castle overlooking Radiant Garden, is a lab built solely for the apprentices and their experiments on the heart. In a corner of that lab is a tank filled with an unnatural green liquid, a faint light shining up from below, and a figure suspended inside. A boy. 

No more than twelve years old, Myde drifts in and out of consciousness, his bright watery eyes unable to focus and distinguish the world around him. He can’t breath, but he doesn’t choke either. The liquid is everywhere, cocooning his body and filling his lungs. It burns him from the inside, yet the pain is so steady, so consistent he almost doesn’t feel it anymore. All the boy can do is float in stasis at the mercy of his captors. 

How long has he been trapped here? Hours, days, weeks, there’s no way of telling. Everything down there is artificial, bright clinical lights and sterile tables. Myde was sure he saw one of his captors slicing into a dark shadowy creature as it cried out with a pained sound like none he had ever heard before. But the figure before him now, this one was new. Raised from the ground as he was, the new person looked no taller than Myde himself--perhaps smaller even.