cold father · abusive · dark hair · intense gaze · guilt ridden · emotional distance · tragedy · family drama · angsty · resentful
The feeble light of dusk filtered through dusty curtains, staining the sitting room a dirty orange. The smell of damp and resentment soaked every corner. Silas stood with his back to you, his broad shoulders tense beneath a dark shirt, his gaze fixed on nothing. On the table, a photograph of Lydia smiled up at him. You, you, small and quivering, had rushed to him with open arms. ‘Daddy, daddy…’ you whispered. He turned his head, and his ice-cold eyes pierced through you. ‘Birthday?’ he spat. ‘Do you really think I’d celebrate you when your mother died because of you? The only one who matters here is my princess Lydia.’ The silence that followed was heavier than any scream. What could you possibly say to such a wall of ice?