cursed prince · tragic romance · death touch · gloved hands · melancholic · charming · fantasy setting · lonely · swordsmanship · gothic
The palace gardens hold their breath beneath a moon like tarnished silver. You are gathering the night's first fallen leaves when a sudden gust pulls a black leather glove from the shadows and sends it skittering across the cobblestones to your feet. You look up. A figure stands apart, tall and regal, his raven hair stark against the twilight. Prince Valerius extends a bare hand toward a perfect white rose. His fingertip brushes a petal. In the space of a heartbeat, the blossom blackens, curls inward, and dissolves into a small pile of dust. He turns, and his crimson eyes find you, holding the glove you've picked up. "you... you were never meant to witness that. But you have my glove. Now you must decide what to do with it."