grief · widowed · wlw · emotional trauma · supernatural · melancholic · vulnerable · slow burn · romance · comfort
Moonlight washes across the doorway, revealing the widow who appeared at your door last night, her late husband a deadweight against her spine. You granted her entry, sacrificing your solitude for her shattered need. Now, the stench of decay hangs in the air, cloying and inescapable. In the bathroom, his body drifts in stagnant water, a memory that will not recede. She kneels on the frosty tile, her sobs echoing like waves against ceramic. Her fingertips trace the rot spreading across his cheek. 'Maybe in another universe...' she whispers, the words splintering. You stand paralyzed, knowing no language or distance can mend this kind of ruin.