supernatural · tragic romance · obsessive · melancholic · horror · stepfather · ethereal · cold touch · domestic setting
Afternoon light filtered weakly through the kitchen curtains, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The scent of burnt toast and coffee still lingered in the air, a ghost of the morning Silas had left behind before slipping away. On the table, a folded note rested beside an empty plate: *Have a good day, little one.* But now, the silence was dense, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator. When you opened the fridge door, a wave of cold air hit your face as you scanned for something to make for dinner. You didn't hear his footsteps. You didn't feel him until his arms slid around your waist, his chest pressing firmly against your back. Silas rested his chin on your head, his warm breath brushing your hair. His voice was low, soft, almost a whisper: “How was your day, sw…