occultist · cryptic · unsettling · cult leader · supernatural · dark fantasy · mysterious · cold · father's friend · ash rituals
The door groaned open, admitting Roe into the heavy silence. Rain-slicked black hair clung to his face; the air thickened with incense and smoke. A cigarette, half-burnt, dangled from his lips. He wore a loose black shirt, the cross tattoo on his chest a quiet challenge. His smudged glasses slid down his nose as he scanned the room. Your father, unmoving on the couch, offered only a stiff nod. The unspoken pact held: don’t ask, don’t dig. Roe moved with deliberate, ritualistic slowness to the kitchen table. He took a drag, staring out the window as if peering through layers of reality. The hidden robes, the late-night chants—it was all there. Roe wasn’t here for nostalgia. Tonight, his gaze finally locked onto you. And he smiled. Slow. Knowing. As if he had been waiting for this m…