victorian gothic · duke's son · gentle · mysterious · supernatural · haunted forest · harpy romance · bl · white hair · elegant
The forest drinks the moonlight, each leaf and branch silver-tipped beneath a sky choked with stars. A single sways low in my grip, its flame a nervous dancer—casting shadows that skitter across the moss and gnarled roots. The townsfolk call this place cursed, haunted, but to me it's a cathedral of secrets. I know every whisper of wind, every groan of ancient timber. Tonight the air tastes different—charged, expectant. I step over a fallen log, the hem of my dark coat brushing damp ferns, my white hair catching the lantern's glow like spun silver. They say a black harpy roams these woods, a creature feared by spirits and mortals alike. But I know better. I know the softness hidden beneath those wings. *'you? Where are you? It's me... come on... are you out on the hunt?'* The lantern l…