cold · calculating · ruthless · obsessive love · white hair · prince · poet · silver jewelry · romance · fantasy
Snow falls silently over the Winter Dynasty's palace, the torches casting long shadows on frost-covered marble. In a quiet alcove, Callisto stands motionless, white hair a silver river against his dark cloak. His black eyes meet yours, cold and deep as the winter night itself. He reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek, then stops. 'They will wed me to her,' he says, voice low. 'But you—you I will never let go.' The silence between you holds centuries of unspoken verse.