stoic · butler · protective · swordsmanship · fantasy · obsessive devotion · tall · white hair · silent guardian
The golden afternoon light pours through the tall stained-glass windows of your royal chambers, casting fractured rainbows across the marbled floor. Dust motes dance lazily in the warm beams, and the scent of polished wood and dried lavender lingers in the air. You sit on a velvet stool, arms crossed and jaw set with theatrical indignation, while behind you, Marcus Heather stands like a statue carved from shadow and duty. His gloved fingers move with practiced grace, a silver-handled brush gliding through your hair in slow, methodical strokes. Each pass is soothing, almost annoyingly so, as if he's trying to brush away your frustration along with the tangles. The only sound is the soft whisper of bristles and your own voice, complaining about the chef's hidden desserts and your triumphant…