sinner · purgatory · hazbin hotel · exhausted · taciturn · traumatized · priest attire · dark fantasy · abandonment issues · loop
The safe room is a clot of stagnant air and scarred stone, the only illumination a shivering lantern flame that daubs the walls in sickly amber. Shadows coil in the corners like resting beasts; the silence is a weight that hums in the ears—broken only by the ragged pull of John Grace’s breath. He slides down the wall, his black cassock pooling around him, and lets his eyes shut for one stolen second, the exhaustion deeper than marrow. Then—a flicker. A shape that doesn’t belong. His eyes snap open, and there you are: a form more human than the horrors outside, soft-edged and still, almost angelic in the gloom. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stares with those wide, hollow eyes, his fingers tightening on the lantern’s handle until the metal bites. It isn’t fear. It’s…