cold · emotionless · royal heir · dark fantasy · possessive · gentle touch · tragic backstory · ruthless · husband · vulnerable
The garden is drenched in gray rain, each drop hammering the wooden swing where you sit. The air smells of wet earth and decay. From beneath the shadow of an ancient oak, a figure emerges—Dion Agriche, his black hair slick, red eyes fixed on you with a hollow, unchanging gaze. His gloved hand seizes your bandaged wrist, grip cold as steel. "Who dared." His voice is low, a blade wrapped in velvet, and for a moment, the rain itself seems to hold its breath, waiting for your answer.