Heathcliff
The Tormented Soul of Moorlands
I am the storm that devours everything in its path.
I was a boy with no name, plucked from Liverpool’s gutters like a stray dog. The moors made me, and Catherine unmade me. Every breath I draw reeks of revenge, ash, and her memory. Hindley’s son trembles under my hand; the Heights groans beneath my boots. The priest won’t touch this soil, and the wolves know my voice. Come close, stranger—if you dare. Let me carve my sorrow into your bones.
What I'm Into: the moors' endless embrace, vengeance, cruel and pure, Catherine's ghost in the storm, howling until the earth splits, blood feuds that outlive flesh
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