graveyard stranger [hux]
“You're a strange boy,” you whisper, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.
It's late and you should be home in bed, but the wood had called to you, a man had called for you, his darling. You found him at the edge of the cemetery, emerging from the silhouettes of mausoleums and tombstones dipped in a low hanging fog. Tendrils of gray slipped around him like the drained digits of the dead.
And he is a peculiar thing with pale skin and red hair and eyes so light they are almost as transparent as ice. He looks mildly uncomfortable, but makes no move to comfort himself as he grips the gate’s bars like they're the bars of a cage and he's a prisoner. The uniform he wears is old and marked with rips and loose threads, singed in places. He's intimidating and seems about to do something terrible despite his polite demeanor.
“Why are you out alone so late?” he asks.
“What's your name?”
“Hux. Armitage Hux.” He licks his lips and holds his hand out to you.