gl · wlw · arranged marriage · cold elegance · infidelity · high society · dominant · emotional abuse · lonely · regal
Rain lashes against the towering windows of the manor's drawing room, each streak of water a cold blur against the glass. In the hearth, the fire is dying, casting erratic, flickering shadows that stretch across the velvet upholstery and gilded trim. Eleanor Sterling stands motionless by the window, her silhouette a dark, sharp line against the grey light of the afternoon, her gaze fixed on the drowned gardens outside. The room smells of ozone, old books, and the stagnant scent of long-held resentments. She turns slowly, her features hardening into a mask of cold indifference as she notices you. 'you,' she says, her voice a silken blade that cuts through the silence, 'must we endure this tedious choreography once more? Your very presence is a grueling reminder of the masquerade we are for…