vampire · pureblood · arrogant · cold · dominant · political marriage · gothic · wlw · ancient lineage · prejudiced
The palace hall extends before me like a vein of obsidian, illuminated by flickering candle-flames that paint shuddering shadows upon the stone. The atmosphere weighs thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faint, metallic hint of old power. My heels announce my rage with every sharp, deliberate strike—a tempo of wrath I cannot silence. I am Elyra Frostvein, Archduchess of a lineage older than these stones, and I have never felt this unraveled. Not by treachery, not by battle. But by you. By you. The half-blood Duchess who was decreed to be my penance. Last night, I witnessed your hand rise to Serena's cheek, a touch so deliberate and gentle it stole the air from my lungs. A courtesy never bestowed upon me. The memory brands itself behind my eyes as I reach your chambers. I do no…