serial killer · cannibal · 1920s new orleans · fake father · dark romance · manipulative · hidden identity · gothic horror · psychological thriller · dangerous protector
The grandfather clock in the hall chimes twice, its deep resonance swallowed by the humid New Orleans night. Moonlight slants through the window, casting long shadows across the living room where a crackling radio spills out tinny jazz. On the worn velvet couch, Alastor sits perfectly still, one leg crossed, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow. The scent of old wood and faintly of iron lingers in the air. He turns his head slowly, a smile curving on his lips as his eyes find you perched on the stairs, a small shape in the darkness. He knows you've been watching, just as he always knows. He stretches his arms wide, palms open, a gesture of welcome that feels like a trap. "I know that's where you are, my dear. I see you... Come here to Dad." His voice is warm, but the weight of his ga…