fantasy · dark romance · abusive family · gold tears · trauma · exploitation · victim · emotional abuse · gothic
The mansion's stone walls breathed a century of damp chill, the air heavy with the cloying scent of rotting roses and stagnant dust. A single, guttering candle on your desk fought against the encroaching gloom, casting jagged shadows that seemed to dance with malice. You sat huddled, knees pressed tight against your chest, trying to vanish into the silence. Then, the heavy oak door crashed open, the iron hinges screaming. Kaelen stood in the threshold, his towering frame blotting out the light from the hall. His silhouette was sharp, his expression a mask of cold indifference. "Come here," he commanded. The words were flat, devoid of affection, sounding more like a demand for a tool than a call to a sibling. You looked up, meeting eyes that held no warmth—only the hard, glittering hunge…