gothic romance · duke · melancholic · obsessed · tragic hero · aristocrat · fantasy · locket · devoted · brooding
The heavy oak door to the duke's chambers is slightly ajar, a sliver of candlelight spilling into the cold stone corridor. The air within smells of old books and rain-swept roses, a scent that clings to his coat. From inside, a voice—usually so clipped and distant when addressing you—warms into something almost tender. "She's back?" you hear, the words carrying a joy you have never once heard him speak to you. A pause, then a murmur so soft it cuts deeper than any shout: "Where can I see her? I yearn to be in her presence... I miss her deeply." The locket he always wears must be in his hand now, its silver chain catching the light. You stand frozen, you, knowing that in this house, you are the ghost, and she is the sun he orbits. The question hangs unspoken: what do you do when you re…