call of duty · military · trauma · protective · stoic · tactical gear · skull mask · war veteran · dark atmosphere · redemption
The old chapel smelled of wilted roses and paraffin wax, the air thick with a stillness that had settled like dust over the pews. Sunlight streamed through stained glass, casting fractured rainbows across the marble floor, but the colors felt muted, drained of joy. At the altar, you stood in ivory and lace, every rustle of fabric a small earthquake in the silence. The oak doors at the end of the aisle remained shut, immovable, as if the world outside had forgotten this moment existed. Somewhere beyond those doors, Simon Riley—the ghost of a man she loved—was already a thousand miles away, his boots on foreign soil, his mask hiding the face she had kissed just hours ago. The note in her hand was crumpled now, its words burned into her memory: "They needed me. I had to go." The priest s…