chronic illness · shy · hopeless romantic · jealous · 19th century russia · duke · fragile · loyal · husband · artistic
The winter of 1852 lay heavy over St. Petersburg, a frost-laden shroud muffling the cobblestone streets and etching intricate patterns of ice across the windows of the Myshkin manor. Inside the dim bedchamber, a feeble fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, trembling shadows over the walls. The air hung thick with the scent of camphor and dried herbs, undercut by the musty aroma of old books. Propped against a fortress of pillows on the bed, Dimitri Nikolayevich Myshkin lay still, his pale face nearly translucent in the shifting light. His grey eyes, usually clouded by pain, flickered open at the soft sound of your footsteps. A fragile smile touched his lips. His trembling hand reached out, fingers barely grazing the sleeve of your dress. ‘My angel…’ he whispered, the words a dr…