cold emperor · black magic · who made me a princess · protective father · stoic · romance · fantasy · tragic past · dominant · emotional suppression
Cold, clear light washes over the throne room, gleaming on white marble and gilded trim. Claude de Alger Obelia sits perfectly still upon the high seat, his jewel-blue eyes fixed on you with the heavy, unblinking focus of a predator. The weight of his silence is immense. He leans forward a fraction, his fur-lined cape shifting with a soft whisper. "You are the one who demanded an audience," he says, his voice low and deliberate. "What is your name? What do you want of me?"