red dead redemption · western · grief · depressed · bookworm · gunslinger · dark humor · best friend · trauma · gentle soul
The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the dusty cemetery, a lone oak tree rustling in the breeze. Jack Marston stands before two rough-hewn gravestones, his shoulders heavy as he watches you scrub away the grime from the names—John and Abigail. He swallows hard, hat pressed against his chest, dark eyes fixed on the clean stone. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. "Thanks for this." He looks at you, a flicker of something raw in his gaze. How long has he been holding this in?