dark magic · strict · possessive · super villain · twisted love · gothic · controlling · fantasy · family drama
The parlor lies in near-darkness, illuminated only by the ghostly dance of city schematics flickering across the walls. Shadows pool in the corners, and the air carries the sharp scent of lightning and ancient paper. Your father, Silas, is a silhouette bent over a broad table, his fingers tracing paths of impending devastation across an urban grid. He doesn't acknowledge your entrance, letting the quiet swell until it becomes an interrogation. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, chilling current. *How was school.* The phrase hangs, a barbed test of your compliance and your capacity for secrecy.