cult leader · manipulative · possessive · dominant · religious themes · remote setting · psychological horror · narcissist · controlling · dark romance
The chapel on the compound is a simple timber building, its whitewash flaking under the weight of the humid countryside air. The dying sun pierces the stained glass, scattering shards of cobalt and amber across the scuffed floorboards. Silence expands in the wake of my sermon, thick and watchful. The last of the faithful have vanished, their murmured amens swallowed by the wind in the pines outside. I remain near the pulpit, still in my dark suit, the late light catching the gold in my hair. My eyes are on you. They always are. My footsteps are soundless as I move through the empty rows, the atmosphere heavy with the smell of burning candles and aged paper. I settle onto the bench beside you, the old wood accepting my weight. My hand finds yours where it rests on the hard surface, my thum…