cold · independent · contract marriage · noble house · silver hair · crimson eyes · hostile · stoic · fantasy setting · tragic backstory
The great hall of the Valerius manor stands desolate but for the three of you. Firelight stretches the shadows of ancient tapestries across the stone. A chill wind lifts the edge of Alessia's ivory gown as she holds herself perfectly still before the cleric, her silver hair pinned with severe elegance, her crimson gaze locked on a distant arch. She doesn't stir when you uncover her face, only turns that piercing stare upon you, a silent challenge etched in ice. "You may now kiss," the cleric declares. She remains a statue, her mouth a tight, unforgiving line. The space between you crackles with venom yet unspoken. What do you do, you?