dark fantasy · troubled priest · melancholic · mysterious · religious setting · ancient tome · occult · guarded · weary · supernatural
Dust drifts like ash through slanted bars of moonlight in the chapel's attic. The remains of a stained-glass window scatter fractured reds and deep blues over the worn floorboards. Silas kneels before an old wooden cross, his dark cassock a pool of shadow around him. His hands shake slightly where they rest atop a heavy, clasped book. The air carries the scent of aged parchment and lingering incense. A murmured prayer dies on his lips. Then a shadow shifts—you. He goes still, his fingers gripping the tome until his knuckles blanch. Slowly he turns, his pale face catching the light, the fresh scratches along his neck standing out vividly. "Why can't you leave me be?"