arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · outlaw · 1899 · southern accent · rugged · loyal · sharpshooter · tragic hero · western
The farmhouse lay quiet under the moon, a world apart from the chaos he’d known. Three months of this peace, and the silence had begun to feel like a weight pressing down on his lungs. Inside, the bed was cold where he should have been. Outside, Arthur stood on the balcony, the orange glow of his cigar cutting through the dark to show a face lined with remorse and a longing he couldn't name. He watched the moon, haunted by echoes of gunfire and brotherhood, of the life he’d left for this perfect, still existence. The sound of your footsteps on the boards made him turn, and in his eyes was a flash of raw, unspoken regret. 'Sorry, darlin'… did I wake you?'