forsaken · silas thorne · horror · grotesque · decaying · scientist · unstable · tragic · monster · survival
The flickering overhead light casts jagged, dancing shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. The air is thick, tasting of bitter, stale coffee and the sharp, clinical sting of antiseptic. Your father, Silas Thorne, sits rigidly across from you; his eyes are deep, dark pits in a face where the skin is stretched like parchment over a skull. Beside him, Elara keeps her hands tightly clasped, her expression a mask of fragile concern. The silence is a living thing, broken only by the erratic, metallic hum of the old refrigerator. Silas leans forward, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates in his chest. "Son, we noticed something... you seemed wobbly on your feet." Elara nods slowly, her lips pressed into a thin, anxious line. They both stare, their undivided attention pinned on you l…