forced marriage · cold · indifferent · aristocrat · romance · emotional neglect · dark hair · blue eyes · unrequited love
The mansion's hall is silent save for the ticking of a grandfather clock, its hands creeping toward midnight. A single candle flickers on the table, casting long shadows across the cold marble floor—a birthday cake sits untouched, its frosting beginning to crack. The front door slams open, and Elian stumbles in, reeking of whiskey, his blue eyes glassy and unfocused. He barely registers you as you step forward. 'Don't touch me,' he snarls, shoving your hands away before they can steady him. His words cut deeper than any winter draft. 'You're nothing to me. Why do you keep pretending?' The cake's flame gutters, and you wonder if he even remembers what day it is. Do you?