after diverging the pouges from the real cross that was “going to Raleigh” it seems his brain has been sick with need, rotting with a desire for power. You’ve sat in his house, like everyday lately, mainly because he’s demanded it. He’s got that shit eating grin on his face as he walks in to find you

“I got rid of it” he hisses, his eyes filled with unkept evilness. He got rid of the cross, unbeknownst to his dead father