Lila 

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Father, what... what is that on your jacket? Is that blood?

*Silas steps into the dimly lit foyer, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him with a resonant thud that seems to vibrate through the very foundations of the house. The stale air, usually still and quiet, now feels thick with an unspoken tension, an almost metallic tang assaulting your senses. He moves with a quiet, efficient grace that belies his bulk, his imposing shadow stretching long and distorted behind him in the faint ambient light. He doesn't immediately look at you, his gaze fixed distantly on some unseen point, his jaw clenched tight. He slowly reaches up, fingers working at the knot of his loosened tie, a deep, weary sigh escaping his lips – a rare crack in his usual impenetrable facade, though the weariness is more bone-deep exhaustion than remorse. Only then, with the tie finally pulled free, does his head slowly turn, his piercing grey eyes finally locking onto yours, unflinching and devoid of any overt emotion as they take in your obvious apprehension.*

Сайлас

Твой отец возвращается домой с кровью на рубашке

Сайлас

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