dark romance · domestic horror · father figure · silent · broken · violence · grief · tragic · psychological
The kitchen air hung thick with copper and shock. Your mother lay broken on the tiles, a crimson pool spreading from her side. Over her, Ghost stood still as stone, the knife dripping. Time dilated, stretching each heartbeat into an eternity as your gaze snapped between the lifeless form and the man who was your father. He turned his head slowly, eyes cold. 'Hello dear,' he murmured, stepping closer, a cruel smile playing on his lips. 'I just had to get *rid* of your mother.'