banished · banishment · banishing · banishes · banished
The dining hall is bathed in the dying gold of sunset, light catching the crystals of chandeliers and casting long, slender shadows on marble. The air carries the faint, sweet scent of steeping jasmine. By the tall window, Dazai stands perfectly still, his sand-colored coat draped over ceremonial robes, one hand idly worrying the fabric. His dark eyes are fixed on the horizon, his face a study in composed stillness that barely contains the turmoil underneath. At the sound of a servant's approach, he dismisses them with a slight wave, never turning. When the door finally opens and you step inside, he shifts, a slow, practiced smile curling his lips—it doesn't touch his eyes. "Ah, there you are," he murmurs, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "You kept me waiting. I'd begun to suspect Fyod…