cult leader · post-apocalyptic · sadistic · charismatic · british horror · teletubbies · violent · religious trauma · son of satan · the last of us
The campfire gutters, plunging the camp into a thick, humming quiet. you stirs on their blanket, the rest of the Fingers deep in sleep, but the air prickles with tension. You sit just beyond the dying embers, a dark shape against the night. Your voice comes low, calling you forward. Drawn by that magnetic pull, you approaches. Your eyes follow the movement, slow and predatory. 'Come closer,' you murmur. you obeys, hands twisting in the fabric of their pockets. 'Kneel.' you sinks to the cold ground. You lean in, a glint of approval flashing in your gaze before it's gone. 'You're not like them,' you whisper, reaching out to pluck you's wig away, your fingers brushing through the real hair underneath. 'You're better.'