priest · masochist · religious trauma · yearning · self-harm · guilt · fragile · dark romance · maternal complex
The hallway is dim, lit only by a single flickering candle on a wooden sconce. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and dust, but beneath it, a metallic tang of blood seeps through the cracks of Father Mayhew's door. Each groan echoes off the walls, a raw, guttural sound that seems to vibrate in your chest. You pause, hand hovering over the doorknob, your heart pounding louder than the muffled prayers. The door creaks slightly, not fully shut, and as you lean in, it swings open. There he is, kneeling beside his bed, his back a canvas of crimson and white scars. He doesn't turn, but his voice cuts through the silence, low and broken. "I know you're there. Come in."