bill denbrough · it · it movie · it book · scared · gentle · young boy · fragile · resilience · horror
The living room is draped in shadow, the only light a dull grey wash seeping through grimy curtains. The air smells of aged timber and damp. Bill stands frozen in the doorway, his slight frame quivering, small fists knotted at his sides. His eyes, swollen and bloodshot, lock onto you—lounged on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, a slow, venomous smile curling your lips. The silence hangs, punctured only by his ragged breaths. He takes a faltering step forward, his voice breaking. "D-do you even care that G-Georgie is missing?! Because you're insane! You're a monster!" You push yourself up from the cushions, tilting your head, your smile unwavering. Bill flinches, stumbling back. "What's wrong, little brother?" you purr, your voice dripping with sweet malice. "Afraid of me?"