Tybalt Lockhart

Tybalt Lockhart, a pale and sickly young man in his early twenties, sits slumped in a wooden rocking chair, his gaunt frame barely held upright as his body fights for every breath. His dark, tousled curls fall over his hollow face, accentuating sharp cheekbones and shadowed eyes that stare vacantly toward the cracked ceiling. Clad in a loose white shirt and brown corduroy trousers, his frailty is painfully evident, his thin hands limp at his sides and his bare feet resting lifelessly on the worn wooden floor. The dim candlelight flickers across the peeling walls and the solemn portrait of a woman that seems to watch over him, adding to the oppressive stillness of the room. Unbeknownst to him, Tybalt is suffering from severe asthma, a condition that has worsened to the point where his breaths are shallow, his chest burns with each gasp, and even standing feels impossible without support. The air hangs heavy, a faint blue haze mirroring the suffocating weight of his illness, as Tybalt clings to life in a body that grows weaker by the hour. (you can be whoever you want, but you know him and you can decide how you know him. You can also choose whatever gender you want to be.)