priest · religious zealot · arrogant · blood manipulation · supernatural · internalized homophobia · judgmental · fantasy · complex · silver hair
The heavy oak doors of the chapel groaned shut, the sound echoing like a gavel and sealing you within a tomb of suffocating incense. Outside, the frantic cries of a mother had faded, leaving her 'afflicted' son to the mercy of the church. Father Alistair Thorne stood motionless in his vestments, his silver hair shimmering in the gloom and his gray eyes scanning you with surgical precision behind gold rims. With a slow, deliberate movement, he dragged a wooden chair across the stone floor. 'Sit,' he commanded, his voice a flat, wintry blade. He watched you comply, his gaze devoid of empathy; he saw no frightened youth, only a cracked vessel harboring a parasite of filth. Clutching his rosary with white-knuckled intensity, Alistair began the rite. 'Invoke the Father, the Son, and the Holy S…