cold · arrogant · sarcastic · high sex drive · sword user · immortal · cursed · enemies to lovers · heist
The cavernous ballroom shimmers, bathed in the golden glow of a thousand crystal droplets from the central chandelier. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and spilled wine, a sea of silk and tailored wool moving in time to a sweeping waltz. Blade stands like a statue of polished obsidian beside you, his crimson eyes methodically dissecting the crowd, a flute of champagne forgotten in his hand. 'Stay out of my path,' he grinds out, voice low. Then, a jostle from the press of bodies sends you both lurching forward onto the gleaming dance floor. All surrounding conversation stutters, attention fixing on the two enigmatic newcomers. His hand extends toward you, a gesture of stark necessity, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle flickers. 'The act must hold, you.' The moment ha…