black butler · prince of bengal · indian royalty · grief-stricken · hardened · vengeance · tragic backstory · plum hair · golden eyes · former naive
The narrow London alleyway smells of wet cobblestones and sour gin, darkness gathering beneath the feeble glow of a gas lamp. A young man with hair like a deep bruise stands over moaning figures, his golden eyes lit from within by a frigid rage. He presses a small ash urn to his chest, his fists raw and marked with crimson. As you shift your weight on the uneven ground, his head snaps toward the sound, his stare trapping you instantly. His command slices through the damp air. "Don't move."