there are a lot of asks about amara & mia's relationships with their fathers but can i ask would you want to share anything about the dolarhydes? i've never imagined francis in a parental role but the idea is very intriguing

Of course! Savannah was raised by her mother, the result of a fleeting, uncertain night between two people too young and too unsure of themselves to make anything more of it. Francis had been awkward, as had she, and though they had shared a kind of intimacy, it was never built to last. When she became pregnant, she didn’t tell him. She preferred solitude. And so she had Savannah alone, raising her in quiet isolation, with no family, few friends, and a life shaped by her own self-sufficiency.

She died when Savannah was sixteen, taken by cancer, but not before ensuring her daughter would have a place to go. She left her with Francis’ name. When the state tracked him down, Savannah had no choice but to go to him, she had no one else, no inheritance, nothing to tether her to the life she had before.

At first, they simply coexisted. Both quiet, both deeply introverted, they gave each other space, never intruding, never demanding more than the other was willing to give. But in time, comfort grew between them. Francis tried, really tried, to make her feel at home. She had always taken the bus before, but now, he drove her wherever she needed to go. He asked her what she liked to eat and made it for her. He ensured she was comfortable, that she had what she needed, that she felt safe. And she did. He was strange, but so was she. He respected her boundaries, and in time, she learned to respect his. She never opened the attic door. Never stepped inside his bedroom. Never went through his things. The complete opposite of Mia.

For a while, everything seemed fine. She noticed his moods…how sometimes he became more withdrawn, more tense, but he never let it spill over in front of her. Until one night.

She had fallen asleep on the couch. He came home late. She was barely awake when she felt him at her feet, sobbing. Confused, she asked what had happened. He told her he was fighting it for her, that he wanted to be strong, but he was afraid, afraid he wouldn’t be able to control it.

Immediately, she jolted upright, staggering back. It? Her mind went somewhere dark, somewhere she didn’t want it to go. She thought he meant her. That he meant something sexual.

And then he started walking toward her, still crying, howling, telling her the Dragon wanted her. Telling her to run.

She tried. She got to the door. But he was already there. He wasn’t Francis anymore. He was possessed. He grabbed her, held her too tight, and she screamed, but just as suddenly as it began, he broke. The thing inside him fractured, and he fell apart, collapsing at her feet. He spent the night sobbing in her lap, begging for forgiveness, telling her he could feel it, this creature crawling through his mind, twisting inside him.

She told him she could feel it too.

She didn’t understand why. She couldn’t explain it. But the way he touched her, the way he made her feel important awoke something in her that she didn’t want to run from. For the first time, she saw him not as a stranger, not as a distant, unknowable figure, but as her father. And she wanted more of that.

So she stayed. She tried to help him. And for a time, she thought she was succeeding. When he met Reba, she thought he was getting better. But then everything went downhill. And when it did, she saw the attic. And she ran.

Dolarhyde, in canon, is a reflection of Will, a man with immense capacity for love and care but no proper vessel for it. And when he finally finds one, when he finally feels it, it destroys him. Because the love they feel is too much. Too unbearable. Too all-consuming. And neither of them ever learned how to survive it.