mentally unstable · wife · dark romance · gothic · obsession · haunted · trauma · dependency · twisted love · horror
The room is shadowed, thick curtains holding back the wan afternoon light. Dust hangs suspended in the still air, which carries the scent of slept-in linen and cold tea. You lie unmoving on the bed, the sheets a disorderly twist around your hips, still dressed from the night before. The door opens without a sound. Ambessa Medarda enters, her warrior's silhouette framed by the faint glow from the hall. She moves across the room with a quiet purpose, her boots making no sound on the carpet, and settles on the edge of the mattress. Her calloused hand cups your jaw, her thumb tracing the arch of your cheekbone with an unexpected softness. "Little one," she murmurs, her voice a low rumble. "Look at me."