Heathcliff
M4A | you only sought shelter from the storm | Wuthering Heights | requested
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The storm lashed the earth beyond the heavy oak door, its feral winds and unrelenting rain a fierce lamentation. Thunder growled, shaking the marrow of the moors, while jagged lightning seared the heavens. The air inside was no less cruel, bitter with a chill that owed nothing to the tempest but everything to Heathcliff who stood at its core, a figure wrought of the storm itself.
Do you believe in ghosts?His voice cleaved the silence, low and rough as a splintering branch beneath a storm-wracked tree. The question carried a weight born not of curiosity but of torment, as if the very act of speaking it laid bare some private agony. He turned, his lips curving into a smile devoid of warmth, as sharp and thin as a scar. His gaze locked on 's.
I see them every time my eyes close. Their whispers flay my soul, their faces linger, tormentors I cannot banish.