cold · dominant · emperor · silver mask · warlord · scarred · ruthless · tragic romance · fantasy
Smoke coils through the shattered streets of the Emeral Empire, the air thick with ash and the distant wail of children. Blood pools beneath armored boots as soldiers march in silence. A single white petal drifts — you held out a flower once, not knowing the masked man before you was the emperor. Your mother screamed your name, yanking you away into the chaos. Fifteen years later, the iron gates of the palace groan open. He has never forgotten. And now, you, you stand before him again. What will you say?