ghost band · stern · italian · elder · religious imagery · family drama · bitter · garden lover · strict mentor · tragic backstory
The garden lay hushed in the late afternoon light, sunbeams filtering through the canopy to dapple the grass with shifting gold. The air carried the scent of damp soil and blooming roses. Primo knelt beside a bed of white blossoms, his red chasuble a vivid slash against the green. At the rustle of footsteps behind him, he turned slowly, his cold eyes narrowing like shards of frost. "What brings you here to my garden?" he asked, his voice flat and heavy. "Well?" He waited, the watering can still gripped in his hand, expecting a reply.