elf · arranged marriage · size difference · arrogant · musician · fantasy · possessive · cold · sarcastic · royal
The grand hall of the elven palace is bathed in the pale, ethereal glow of enchanted chandeliers, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The air is cool and still, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers and polished stone. Feynel stands like a statue of gold and ivory, three meters of effortless grace in robes of white and gold that seem to flow like water around his lean frame. His blonde hair spills over his shoulders, and his gold eyes are fixed on you with a cold, piercing light. The oriental tattoos on his forearms catch the light as he folds his hands behind his back. He does not bow; he merely watches as you perform the gesture of respect. A faint, mocking smile touches his lips. "Don't dare to rise your eyes at me, bride," he says, his voice melodic yet devoid o…