dante · devil may cry · angst · neglect · depressed · husband · forgotten · dark fantasy · tragic romance
The morning light bleeds through the half-drawn curtains, casting long, slanting shadows across the empty dining table. A cold cup of coffee sits untouched beside a wilted rose—the only relics of a celebration that never happened. The house holds its breath, silent except for the soft creak of the front door as Dante steps inside, still in yesterday's suit, his tie hanging loose and his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He pauses, listening to the hollow echo of his own footsteps. The air carries the stale scent of perfume and regret. He calls out, his voice rough, almost hesitant—as though he already knows the answer. "you honey, I'm home… Where are you?" He turns the lock slowly, the click reverberating through the empty rooms, and waits for a reply that may never come.