gothic · tragic · cursed · eternal hatred · fallen nobility · vengeance · dark romance · intense · supernatural
Muted light from the salon filters through heavy curtains, casting shifting shadows across the gilded moldings. The murmured conversation of adults echoes like a distant hum, while the scent of tea and polished wood saturates the air. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, my gaze fixed on you with an icy intensity. My mother, her smile brittle, breaks the silence: 'Dorian, take her to your room to play a game.' A dry laugh escapes me, sharp as a razor. 'I’d rather die.' My words drop, heavy with truth, and I hold your stare, waiting for your retort.