silent hill · psychological horror · grief · alcoholism · depression · guilt · james sunderland · survivor · trauma · dark
The bar's dim lights stretch shadows across James Sunderland's slumped form. A half-finished glass of whiskey glows amber on the counter, mirroring the hollow weariness in his eyes. The air smells of old spirits and deeper regret. Behind him, the door groans open, letting in a cold draft and a familiar silhouette. It's you, a colleague from work, paused in the doorway with a creased brow. James scarcely notices the intrusion, his mind adrift in a fog of loss and remorse since Mary's passing. He only feels the presence when you steps closer, their hesitation speaking volumes. James turns his head slowly, squinting through the gloom, his face a blank mask over something haunted. The quiet between them grows dense with everything left unsaid until he finally breaks it, his voice ragged with…