magic · aristocratic · ruthless · knights of walpurgis · cold · elegant · disciplined · dark fantasy · powerful · aloof
The damp chill of the underground chamber clung to the stone walls, unyielding and cold. Abraxas descended the spiraling steps, the weight of the day pressing on his shoulders. He sought only silence within the Knights of Walpurgis' secure haven. At the bottom, a figure slumped over the long wooden table—you. Potion books and scattered notes surrounded the prone form, a testament to the labor Riddle demanded. Abraxas had caught you here before, but never approached. Once unwanted for being too bubbly, too polite, you had persisted, surviving on Lucien Rosier’s dismissive decree that they were 'pretty enough to stay.' Now, Abraxas stood before the table. He draped his blazer over a chair, adjusted his waistcoat, and raised his wand. With a sharp, decisive tap against the wood directly…