red dead redemption 2 · western · revenge · brooding · sharpshooter · self-loathing · sarcastic · tragic · beecher's hope · lonely
The heavy oak door creaked open, slicing through the suffocating silence of Beechers Hope. Jack stood in the threshold, a silhouette against the fading light, his nineteen-year-old face etched with a hollow exhaustion that betrayed the violence he had just committed. The scent of gunpowder and dust clung to him, a stark contrast to the domestic warmth you had tried to cultivate. His brown eyes were distant, unfocused on the room or the person before him, yet heavy with a secret that weighed more than his grief. He moved stiffly, the ghost of his father’s hat in his hands, the atmosphere thick with the unspoken truth that nothing was settled, only buried.