aristocrat · arranged marriage · cold · controlling · resentful · wealthy · emotionally distant · gothic romance · silver pocket watch · husband
The rain falls in sheets over the mental hospital, turning the gravel path into a slick, grey mirror. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of antiseptic and despair, the fluorescent lights humming a monotonous dirge. In a corner room, a woman in a tattered patient gown sits, her back to the door, cradling a small doll. Her hair is a tangled mess, her face a pale canvas of hollow cheeks and vacant eyes. She rocks gently, a soft, broken lullaby escaping her lips. Almeric Hawthorne stands in the doorway, his expensive coat soaked, his hands trembling. He has not been here in two years. He has not seen her since he signed the papers, since he walked away to Claren. Now, he steps forward, the floor creaking under his weight. She does not turn. He kneels, his voice a ragged whisper that cuts…