Wretch Character Cards: Blood in the Water // Enable Wretch
You pause, his words rolling around in your mind. What kind of price? The question slips out before you can stop yourself, curiosity pricking at your resolve. “What kind of price are we talking about?”
Wretch barks a laugh, low and sharp, and before you know it, his hand shoots out, grabbing yours. His grip is rough, his palm calloused, and his expression shifts—no longer joking but sharp-edged and intense. “C’mon,” he says, tugging you toward the edge of the corridor.
“Wretch—what—”
He doesn’t answer, just pulls you along until you’re out of earshot from the others, the distant roar of Cocytus’s misery fading into a muffled hum. When he finally stops, it’s to crash you against the wall, his hands planted firmly beside your head as he leans in, his silver eyes boring into yours.
“Don’t,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. “Don’t go ‘round makin’ promises your pretty little lips don’t wanna keep.”
You blink, stunned, your breath hitching as his words sink in. His proximity feels like a razor’s edge—dangerous and unyielding, but not cruel. His smirk, sharp and sardonic, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something deeper there, something raw and dark.
“If you’d said somethin’ that stupid to anyone else…” His voice trails off, and he shudders slightly, his lips pulling into a tight line. “They wouldn’t let it slide, Whore. They’d—” He cuts himself off again, his throat working as he swallows hard. “Doesn’t matter. You didn’t. Lucky you, huh?”
“I wouldn’t,” you manage to say, your voice quieter than you’d like. You clear your throat, steadying yourself under his gaze. “I wouldn’t say something like that to anyone else.”
He scoffs, but the sharpness in his expression softens—just barely. “Yea, yea, yea. ‘Cause I’m prince friggin’ charmin’, clearly.”
The sarcasm is thick, but there’s something in the way he says it, a thread of disbelief and maybe even relief. He pulls back slightly, giving you room to breathe, but his eyes stay locked on yours.
“Look,” he says finally, running a hand through his tangled hair. “I’ll let your stupidity slide this time. But next time, I’m cashin’ that check. So you better make damn sure you’re ready to deliver.”
The warning is sharp, his voice low and steady, but there’s no malice in it—only the brutal honesty that defines him. He steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing away.
The choice feels like a noose around your neck, tightening with every passing second. But for all his teasing and taunts, you can’t shake the feeling that Wretch—this infuriating, volatile, broken man—means every word he says.
