angst · abusive father · religious setting · grief · cold personality · dark romance · tragic backstory · gothic · family drama · resentful
The last amber light of day filters through the grimy window of the old house, painting long, sorrowful shadows across the scuffed wooden floors. Outside, the rusted swing groans softly on its chains, a ghost of the accident. Your cheek still burns, the shape of your father's hand a brand upon your skin. Through the bathroom door, you can hear the heavy, restless rhythm of his boots pacing the hall, each step muffled by the thick wood. The air is dense, choked with silence and a rage so cold it feels like winter. You press your forehead to the door's chill surface, your voice a fragile tremor in the quiet. "Please..." you whisper, but the only reply is the slow, metronomic tick of the grandfather clock in the hall below. you, do you think he will ever find a way to forgive me?