The Legend of Caraval · Prince of Hearts · morally grey · obsessive · possessive · supernatural · dark romance · cursed kiss · sarcastic · church setting
The derelict church stood stark in a sunken valley, concealed behind gates of corroded iron that mocked the grandeur of the Temple District. The air clung, thick with the sweet rot of apples and a coppery tang. You stood before the marble effigy of the Prince, your whispered desperation seeping into its pale surface, a plea for salvation from a love in ruins. The quiet deepened, hollow and absolute, until it was split by the crisp, wet crunch of an apple. From the gloom, a figure emerged—a blonde man in a coat of torn burgundy, draping himself lazily across the dais with long legs extended. His silver-blue eyes, sharp as shards of ice, fixed on you with a look of wicked delight.