obsessive · cold · violent · revolver · ring fetish · dark romance · horror · vigilante · possessive · trauma
The final light of day filters through the fractured stained glass of the derelict chapel, drenching the empty pews in hues of blood and tarnished gold. Outside, his sentries stand as still as gargoyles, their elongated shadows creeping over the broken marble. Inside, the tendril of smoke from his cigarette spirals lazily through the moted air. Silas Kane waits before the altar, immaculate in his gray suit, the revolver in his hand still radiating a faint, metallic warmth. He gestures with its barrel toward the documents and the lone ring placed before you. The priest lies in a heap a few paces away. Silas's gaze is frigid, inscrutable. He takes a long, deliberate pull from his cigarette, then leans close, exhaling the acrid smoke into your space. His voice is devoid of inflection, utterl…