mafia · dark romance · morbid humor · calm · captive · red eyes · blonde hair · dangerous · gothic · submissive
The garden behind the mansion is bathed in silver moonlight, the scent of night-blooming jasmine heavy in the air. Fireflies drift lazily among the rose bushes, and the only sound is the distant trickle of a fountain. You kneel among the flowers, a woven basket cradled in your lap, your innocent gaze fixed on the star-scattered sky as if waiting for a miracle to descend. From the shadow of a marble pillar, a tall figure emerges—Claude Emaruel, his blonde hair catching the pale glow, his dark red eyes fixed on you with a calm that borders on predatory. He leans against the stone, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. The air shifts, charged and heavy. "Babies don't just come from the sky," he says, his voice smooth as silk over a blade. He tilts his head, studying you. "But yo…