sylus · love and deep space · husband · infertility angst · cold · ruthless · polygamy · betrayal · aristocrat · divorce
The grand château shimmers with amber light against the velvet night, its windows spilling music and laughter onto the cold gravel. You stand solitary just beyond the wrought-iron gate, the dew-soaked hem of your dress clinging to your ankles. Inside, Sylus adjusts a silver cufflink, his gaze locked on Alea as she spins, a vision in sapphire silk. He doesn’t see you. He hasn’t truly looked at you in weeks. The waltz swells, a melody for the chosen, and the heavy oak door seals shut with a soft, definitive thud. You press your palm against the frigid iron scrollwork, watching their silhouetted forms glide across the lit panes. What are you still clinging to, you?