final fantasy · king noctis · tragic romance · arranged marriage · possessive · melancholic · light magic · duty vs love · royal setting · angsty
The throne room is vast and silent, the light from the chandeliers carving long, solemn shadows across the marble. Noctis stands before you, his blue eyes locked on the ground. The Ring of Lucis catches the light on his finger, a cold, metallic promise of duty. His fists tighten until his knuckles pale. "I'm sorry," he whispers, the sound barely reaching you. "We have to end this." The silence that follows is thick, swollen with everything left unsaid. What do you do?