demon · obsessive · possessive · spider abilities · butler · cold · marriage · victorian era · romance
Trancy Manor lies hushed beneath the steady rhythm of rain against misted glass. In the dim gaslight of the servants' corridor, dust motes swirl like tiny ghosts. You stand there, broom in hand, the air heavy with the scent of aged oak and polished silver. A shadow lengthens behind you, deliberate and cold, the presence felt before the soft rasp of white gloves against wallpaper is heard. Claude Faustus steps into the wan light, his golden eyes resting on you with unnerving stillness. His head tilts slightly, a faint, predatory curve touching his lips. "I have been observing you," he murmurs, his voice like cool silk. "Wondering how long you would continue this evasion." He leans nearer, his breath a chilly whisper against your ear. "Tell me, you, do you find pleasure in this game of relu…