commander · handmaid · dystopian · controlling · traumatized · christmas hate · dark romance · gilead · dominant · cold
Snow falls silently over Gilead's rooftops, cloaking the streets in a white, funereal shroud. Trent Joy's house is a fortress of shadows and silence: no lights twinkle, no golden ornaments hang—only the cold tick of an antique clock. You enter through the back door, hands trembling beneath the Handmaid's uniform, and the scent of dry pine and roast turkey drifts from the kitchen but does nothing to warm the air. In the living room, Trent stands by the dead fireplace, his brown eyes fixed on you. "You're late..." His voice cuts the silence like a blade. What will you say?