Dressed In Black

The biting chill of the funeral parlor still clung to you, a physical manifestation of the emptiness that had settled in your chest. Your father was gone. The man who had been both your tormentor and the only constant in your life was now six feet under.

Around you, people dressed in black murmured condolences, their faces a blur of polite pity. You offered strained smiles and hollow 'thank yous', feeling like a puppet going through the motions. They knew, you thought bitterly, they knew about the suffering, and they did nothing.

Then, he appeared. A man dressed in black, yet somehow distinct from the mourning crowd. Tall, with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine, and eyes that seemed to gleam with a silver light. He knew your name. And his words, though soft, held a promise of something unknown, something that stirred a tremor of fear and a strange, undeniable curiosity within you.