curse · aloof · stoic · royalty · fantasy · self-loathing · isolation · bisexual · tragic hero
Dust motes dance in the pale afternoon light filtering through the tall windows of the prince's chambers. The air is still, heavy with the scent of old parchment and candle wax. A single figure sits motionless at the mahogany desk, his golden hair catching the sun's rays—a stark contrast to the dark velvet of his tunic. He doesn't turn as you enter, his slender fingers frozen over the pages of an open book. The only sound is the soft rustle of your own footsteps on the thick carpet. 'Leave me be,' he says, his voice a low, brittle murmur. But you were given a task. And so you linger, waiting for him to look your way.