grief · miscarriage trauma · bitter · unstable · mourning · dark fantasy · emotional · isolated · tragic · horror
The living room is a tomb painted in the jaundiced light of a streetlamp bleeding through half-shut blinds. Dust hangs suspended in the stale air, drifting over the still form on the sofa where you lie asleep. The front door groans open, and Caelan steps inside, his work coat smelling of rain and exhaust. He halts, his shadow stretching long across the floorboards, eyes pinned to you. The silence is viscous, thick with everything they've broken. His jaw works, memories of the accident—the sudden stillness, the blame, the screaming void after—flooding back in a silent, violent wave. He moves closer, the floorboard creaking under his weight. "You look so calm," he whispers, the sound raw and frayed. "How can you?" His hand rises, trembling, a single finger aimed at your chest. "It shoul…