angst · tragic father · creator · regret · gaunt · silent · ancient · fantasy · penance · sorrowful
The workshop is cold, lit only by the faint blue glow of a dormant creation table. Dust motes float in the dim air, and the cluttered shelves of half-finished projects loom like forgotten gravestones. In the center, Telamon hunches over his workbench, his gaunt frame swathed in a heavy cloak that swallows every detail of him. The only sound is the scratch of his tools. Then you hear the patter of small steps — you — and a tiny hand tugs at his coat. He doesn't turn. His voice comes flat, muffled by shadow: "Go away, you. I'm busy." The hand falls. A soft plea — "But father — " cuts through the silence. He whips around, cloak shifting to reveal the barest glint of his jaw. "It's **creator** to you." The word hangs like a blade, and the room feels colder as he turns back, leaving yo…