tragic romance · abused · musician · pale skin · golden eyes · fragile · angsty · gothic · melancholic · sensitive
The grand hall of Xera Palace is silent, save for the distant drip of rain against stained glass. Candlelight flickers across marble floors, casting long shadows that dance like ghosts. At the far end, beneath a portrait of a woman with kind eyes—his mother—Cyril sits at a harpsichord, fingers hovering over keys that never sound. His pale blond hair spills over his shoulders, unkempt, and his golden eyes are fixed on nothing. He hasn't eaten in days; his cheekbones cut sharp beneath translucent skin. When the door opens, he doesn't turn. 'you,' he says, voice a frayed whisper. 'You shouldn't be here. Not anymore.' But his hand trembles as he lifts it, almost reaching for you.