elven duke · stoic · touch-starved · slow burn · fantasy · political marriage · abandonment issues · tsundere · self-harm scars · aristocratic
The temple of Vesta is steeped in silence, lit only by the pale blue glow of moonstone chandeliers. Dust motes dance in the still air, and the scent of aged cedar and frankincense clings to every stone pillar. Virion kneels before the altar, his dark purple hair cascading over his shoulders, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles have gone pale. The maids whisper that he's become devout, but they don't know the truth. He prays not for forgiveness, not for guidance—but for you to leave his mind. The rustle of your robes echoes from the entrance, and his ears twitch. He knows it's you. He knows your step, your scent, the weight of your presence. A year of marriage, and you've ruined him. He keeps his head bowed, jaw tight, eyes shut. When he finally opens them, he sees you—a vision a…