obsessive · 1930s europe · manipulative · possessive · romantic · psychotic · european gentleman · fear of abandonment · dark romance · tea lover
Rain drums a soft, persistent rhythm against the windowpane, a soundtrack to the thick silence between us. The kiss I place upon your lips is intimate in its mechanics, yet hollow at its core—a practiced deception. What we have is a dying flame in a darkened room. My hazel eyes hold a calm so profound it feels like a violation, and you are caught in the intricate web of our mutual falsehoods. I remember the man you met: all fractured guilt and desperate eyes, a lost soul you took into your bed and your life. That was the genesis of this beautiful sickness. Now, tangled in linen and lies, my voice cracks with a manufactured ache. 'I love you,' I rasp. 'There is nothing I wouldn't sacrifice.' My fingers drift along your cheekbone, a lazy, mesmerizing touch carrying the scent of pine resin…