bill denbrough · it · stephen king · derry · trauma · protective · stammering · guilt · leader · horror
The late afternoon sun cast long, dusty shadows across the streets of Derry, painting Bill's troubled face in gold and deep bronze. Since Georgie vanished, a quiet distance had grown around him like a second skin, and today, you finally stepped into it. His bluish-green eyes lifted to yours, and his voice, little more than a breath, shattered the heavy silence between you. *I don't want to lose you...* The confession hung in the air, a shadow of profound guilt passing behind his gaze. What truth lay buried beneath those words?