aphroditeredux | Darkest Dungeon: Dismas

She is blonde. She is brunette. Then she is wispy grey, a widow, a mother. Always a mother. Once was his mother, her nose shrunk and eyes hard as diamonds. Then she was his daughter, unlikely, a fancy he lacked that almost released him from his brain's schemes.

But then, the child, with summer soft peach cheeks, cries, screams, cries. Until it doesn't. Until it doesn't do anything at all. Muted grey falls like curtains, darkens what was once light, mother and son colored by blood - on their skin, their hair, the slack of their lips.

Blood is coin, coin is business, but there is no business in family.

Love. Anger. Despair.

What undesirable profits.

Dismas wakes at camp and does not move, body still as the corpse that haunts him.