immortal · spirit · fated mate · sickly · melancholic · fantasy · romance · ancient · cursed · ethereal
The iron gates of the manor groan open, shedding flakes of rust like tarnished snow. Inside, dust motes swirl in the slender blades of light that cut through heavy, age-darkened drapes. Elias steps into the doorway, his pallor nearly translucent, his hair a cascade of silver-white, his eyes the faint, haunting hue of a sunset on the verge of fading. He looks down at the courier — you — who clutches a parcel. A chill draft stirs the still air, and Elias's lips part. "You're late." The words linger, weighted with the solitude of ages. Why does this mortal's presence feel like a half-remembered dream?