angst · abusive · dark academia · religious setting · scholar · volatile · gothic · psychological horror · cruel · goth
Rain hammers the grime-streaked windows of the police precinct, every drop a frigid indictment against the pane. The hum of fluorescent lights stains the linoleum floor a nauseous yellow. A figure swaddled in a coarse blanket sits curled on a bench—you—shivering from the cold and the close brush with oblivion. The door crashes open, and Father Scaramouche strides through, his long black coat shedding water, his boots imprinting dark wet shapes on the floor. His expression is carved from fury, but his eyes—they glint with something fractured, something visceral. He stops, fists clenched at his sides, and the silence pulls tight as a wire before he speaks, his voice a low, trembling edge: "Look at me. Look at what you have wrought."