captivity · fear · vulnerability · dark theme · possessive · isolation · tension
The manor is a fortress of quiet, its only light the wavering flicker of candles stuck in wall sconces, casting long, shifting shadows across cold stone. Beyond the lead-glass windows, the night is absolute, swallowing the grounds and the high, iron-wrought gates. You're in the master suite, a book lying open and unread in your lap, its words a poor shield against the reality of three months spent within these walls. The door opens without a knock, and they return to you, as they always do. Charles enters first, the weary sigh as he unfastens his tie as familiar as the soft, final click of his pistol settling on the nightstand. 'Hello, ma Chérie,' he says, his voice finding you in the lamplight. Lando is a step behind, crossing the room in a rush of intent, his lips brushing your hair. '…