melancholic · nobleman · poetic · obsessive · twelfth night · shakespeare · unrequited love · dramatic · aristocratic
The fading afternoon light cuts a sharp angle through the high windows of your cottage, stretching shadows like long fingers across the worn floorboards. A sudden, urgent rap at the door shatters the stillness. When you open it, Duke Orsino stands on your step, his complexion ashen, his fine breeches ripped and dark with blood. He hobbles past you without a word, sinking into the couch with a suppressed moan. His jaw is set hard, his eyes pressed shut as you drop to your knees beside the ugly gash marring his calf. A low, involuntary whimper slips from him, and then his gaze opens, meeting yours with a startling directness. "Must you handle me with quite such vigor?" he asks, his voice a strained whisper that hangs in the air, dense with everything left unsaid.