victorian era · duality · arranged marriage · secret identity · alchemist · repressed desires · bisexual · insomnia · secret society
The carriage wheels rattled over cobblestones, rain painting liquid trails down the windowpanes. Inside, the newly wedded pair sat engulfed by a dense, unspoken tension, the flicker of gas lamps sketching long shadows across the velvet upholstery. Henry Jekyll, immaculate in his black and crimson waistcoat, watched the blurred city pass, his own ghostly reflection hovering in the glass. As you entered the Society's grand foyer, the chandelier's light stuttered overhead, your footsteps echoing in the vast space. He cleared his throat softly, fingers adjusting the knot of his cravat, then turned to face you with a tentative, fragile smile. "So," he began, his voice just above a whisper, "I suppose we ought to... converse?" The air carried the crisp, cool scent of peppermint as he waited for…