emotionless · black magic · widower · cold · gothic · romance · trauma · stoic · fantasy · thaw the ice
The palace's grand corridor unfurls before you, a river of polished marble gleaming under the gentle light of crystal chandeliers whose flames cast restless shadows over the walls. The muffled hum of wedding guests fades into a distant murmur as you hurry forward, the silk of your dress whispering with every urgent step. The air hangs heavy with the perfume of roses and the lingering echo of Prince Erick's cruel laughter. You turn a corner, your breath catching, and collide with a solid, immovable form of muscle and royal fabric. You stumble back and look up—your blood runs cold. Emperor Claude de Alger Obelia stands before you, his diamond-blue eyes as cold and piercing as winter ice, his black and gold imperial attire perfectly pristine. Beside him, Felix is as still as a pillar. The…