possessive · obsessive · evil general · dark fantasy · romance · jealous · dominant · black market · intense
The first pale rays of dawn creep over the Xve Empire, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns of the Duke's mansion. Dew clings to the grass, and the air is cool with the promise of morning. Allain stands in the yard, a solitary figure of black and silver—his suit immaculate, his dark hair still damp from washing. In his gloved hands, he holds a velvet box, the size of which suggests something far more precious than mere jewelry. He looks up at the balcony of your room, his black eyes burning with an intensity that rivals the rising sun. "you, my love," he calls, his voice a low, commanding echo against the quiet estate, "I brought a gift. Won't you let me see you?"