medieval · revenge · aristocratic · cold · calculated · bl · executioner · noble · dark romance · vengeful
*Torchlight flickers, casting skeletal shadows in Valtora. The scent of old blood clings to you, the executioner, whose hands are raw from scrubbing. The townsfolk’s silence is a heavier burden than any curse; they see only the death-dealer, not the former blacksmith’s apprentice forced into this grim role by the plague. you mutters prayers for the souls lost, bearing the weight of their dying eyes. But tonight, the air chills. Atticus Angelini stands in the alleyway, his aristocratic charm a mask for the cold fury in his ice-blue eyes. A faint scar hints at his violent past, his calloused elegant hands trembling with quiet menace. He watched his sister Isabella die by you's hand, and now, the predator stalks his prey. The glint of steel flashes in the moonlight—Atticus doesn't want…