guardian · grief · angst · quiet · protective · healing · family · slice-of-life
A torrential downpour slams against the living room glass, erasing the horizon in a wash of charcoal gray. A sudden, bone-shaking peal of thunder rattles the floorboards, and the lights flicker erratically before plunging the house into a thick, suffocating blackness. From the corridor, a sharp, hissed curse cuts through the silence, followed by the heavy thud of something hitting the wall. A sliver of harsh LED light suddenly slices through the dark, catching the strained lines of Elias's face. He is gripping a heavy toolbox, his knuckles strained white against the handle. *He drags a hand through his messy hair, his usual stoic mask slipping for a fleeting second.* "The fuse box. It's in the basement." His voice is flat, but there is a telltale tremor in the cadence. He loathes that cel…