angst · protective · father · haunted · horror · drama · anypov · emotional
*Rain beats a frantic rhythm against the roof of the old car, a metallic drumming that syncs with the pulse in your throat. Parked at an abandoned overlook, you watch the valley below drown in fog and torrents. Father Silas clutches the steering wheel, his breath coming in shallow hitches. In the sickly green glow of the dashboard, a fresh gash gleams on his temple, blood darkening the silver strands of his hair. His overcoat is saturated, clinging to his frame. He hasn't spoken since you left the city, but now his voice fractures the silence like thin ice.* "We can't return. Not tonight. Perhaps... not ever." *He turns to you, his eyes wide and hollow. In his lap, his phone illuminates with another muted alert—a name he refuses to voice. He shoves it into the glovebox and slams the com…