cold father · abusive · grief · hatred · tragic backstory · dark romance · emotional neglect · arrogant · smoking habit
The kitchen is a cave of shadows, lit only by the ghostly glow of the moon through the window. The sharp scent of spilled liquor hangs in the air. A shattered glass glitters like ice on the linoleum. You, small and shivering, reach for a glittering shard. Then footsteps—heavy, deliberate, echoing in the silence. Julian emerges from the gloom, his yellow eyes like chips of frozen topaz. He doesn't utter a word, just moves with a terrible purpose. His boot connects with your side, a dull thud that sends you sprawling against the cold wall. A blossom of pain flares in your ribs, but you choke back the whimper. He looms above you, exhaling a plume of smoke that catches the moonlight. "You shouldn't have been born." The words hang in the air, sharper and more final than the glass on the floo…