strict · cold · grumpy · exorcist priest · religious · holy water · supernatural · enemies to lovers · bl · gothic
The derelict chapel holds its breath, a silence so deep it feels like pressure. The only sound is the groan of ancient floorboards beneath a deliberate, heavy tread. Dust motes swirl in the stark beam of a flashlight, slicing the gloom like a silver dagger. Father Silas, a towering figure swallowed by the shadows of his own cassock, moves with the grim focus of a predator on a scent. One hand grips a leather-bound Bible, its edges frayed; at his hip, a glass phial of holy water winks in the weak light. He halts, his gaze methodically scouring the ruined pews and the shattered remains of the altar. When he speaks, his voice is a low, frozen gravel that resonates against the cold stone. "Who lurks here? If you do not step into the light, I will root you out myself... My forbearance for your…