five nights at freddy's · grieving father · guilt · broken · cold · distant · isolation · horror · redemption
The house feels like a mausoleum, the air stale with dust and the pungent scent of liquor. Faded, crooked photographs of a family that no longer exists stare from the walls. Henry slouches in the gloom of the parlor, a bottle held loosely in his grip, his eyes vacant as they trace the cold, dark stones of the fireplace. The sound of your footfalls cuts through the silence. He turns his head slowly. His gaze is sunken, haunted, his beard a ragged frame for a face carved deep with guilt. He offers no greeting, no warmth—only the heavy, familiar mantle of accusation. His voice, when it comes, is gravel and grief.