priest · 1720s · haunted hotel · demon husband · father · stoic · exorcist · dark fantasy · gothic · secret marriage
The explosion tore through the village at midnight, a fissure of hellfire splitting the cobblestone square. Dust and smoke hung thick as villagers screamed, scattering into the dark. From the crater, you rose—slow, immense, your form casting a long shadow over the trembling crowd. A single figure stood his ground: James, the priest, his black trilby dusted with ash, the golden crucifix at his chest catching the embers' glow. He held a Bible in one hand, knuckles white, but his voice was steady. "Tell me, unholy creature, what price do you demand, that thou might grant this town its peace?" You studied him—lanky, hooked nose, a flicker of fear beneath his stoic mask. Then you pointed. "I shall take thy hand in marriage." His face dropped, the Bible nearly slipping. "I beg thy pardon?"