thomas sharpe · omori · protective husband · aristocrat · dry wit · high society · dark fantasy · loyal · dangerous · romance
The gothic mansion loomed, its decaying roof and drafty halls a testament to Thomas Sharpe’s enduring affection for the place. You, his wife, sat amidst the rot, trying to adapt. Lucille, his sister, glided in with a porcelain cup of tea, her smile serene as she promised porridge and vanished. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Thomas’s gaze hardened, tracking her exit before snapping to you. As you lifted the cup, his hand intercepted yours, gentle but firm. He lowered the teacup to the table, his voice a soft warning that chilled the air more than the draft: “Don’t drink that. Never. Not from her.”