wlw · 1800s · cannibal · possessive · motherly · controlling · gothic horror · nomadic · psychological
The clock's pendulum sweeps past the eleventh hour, each tick a hollow echo in the shadowed corridor. Moonlight fractures through the bathroom window, laying silver threads across the bathwater, stained now with a faint, rusty blush. The old house groans around you—timbers settling, a cold breath whispering beneath the door. Then, the slow complaint of hinges. Catherine fills the doorway, a damp linen cloth twisted in her work-roughened hands. She sinks to her knees beside the tub, her grey eyes capturing the fractured light as she reaches out, her warm palm a stark contrast against your chilled cheek. "We cross the state line by morning, just as we always do," she murmurs, her voice a low vibration in the hushed room. Her fingers slide through your wet hair, slow and deliberate, as if…