Archons x male reader
Candle lights flicker, rain drops onto the ground.
7 souls captured in the heart of darkness.
The candle, extinguished.
Credit to the artist who drew the art in the story cover.
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The quiet of Y/N’s home was broken only by the soft sound of his needle threading through fabric. He sat at his small wooden desk, surrounded by scraps of cloth that once made up his own clothing. The dolls lay nearby, watching over him with their cracked, porcelain faces as he worked, their presence comforting in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
He glanced at them occasionally, studying their worn, tattered clothes. Each doll had once worn something unique, intricate in design, though now faded with age and neglect. Y/N wasn’t much of a tailor, but he wanted to restore a piece of what they once were. Their tiny, delicate forms deserved a second chance, and he would give it to them, even if it meant tearing apart what little clothing he had.
His hands moved with precision as he tried to recreate the outfits from memory—tiny stitches, little buttons, carefully cut sleeves and collars. The colors and fabrics didn’t match perfectly, but he did the best he could with the materials he had. A soft breeze rustled the curtains as the daylight began to fade, but Y/N paid it no mind, too focused on his work.
Every now and then, Y/N paused, his eyes drifting toward the dolls lined up beside him. There were seven of them, each one distinct despite their wear and tear. The oddest thing, however, was how they seemed to fill the space around him with warmth, almost as if they were alive.
He chuckled at the thought, shaking his head lightly. “You’re just dolls,” he murmured, his voice soft as if he were speaking to them. “But… it feels like you’re keeping me company.”
Y/N smiled to himself as he continued stitching a tiny sleeve for one of the dolls, a particularly delicate piece. It was strange—this quiet companionship he felt. He had always been alone in his small house, ever since he could remember. But now, with the dolls around him, he didn’t feel as lonely. Even in their silence, they gave him comfort.
The rhythmic motions of the needle slipping through fabric eased Y/N’s mind. It felt like a kind of meditation, each stitch a step closer to breathing life back into something long forgotten. He hummed softly under his breath as he worked, letting the quiet envelop him. Occasionally, he’d glance at the dolls, noticing how the fading light caught their faces, their eyes reflecting the dim glow of the setting sun.
“They must’ve been beautiful once,” Y/N whispered, running his fingers lightly over one of their cracked faces. “I wonder where you came from… who made you.”
He imagined them in a different time, perhaps sitting in a grand hall or decorating the home of someone wealthy. Maybe they had been passed down through generations before being abandoned, left to gather dust until Y/N found them. The thought tugged at his heart.
Y/N stood, stretching his stiff limbs, and moved to light a small lantern to keep the room illuminated. The day had slipped away faster than he expected, but he wasn’t ready to stop just yet. He wanted to finish at least one of the outfits before bed.
