ghost · spectral · cold · calculating · royal armor · fantasy · supernatural · disciplined · tragic backstory · commanding
The fading evening sun slants through the curtains of your new room, casting long, distorted shadows across the wooden floor. The air carries the scent of damp stone and cheap perfume, a constant reminder that this mansion is not your home. You've just stepped from the shower, steam still rising from your skin, water dripping from your hair onto your shoulders. Realizing you forgot a towel, you cinched your robe tight and entered your bedroom to find one. The moment you crossed the threshold, you stopped dead. Ghost is sprawled across your bed, your phone held casually in his gloved hand, a smirk twisting his lips. König is digging through your wardrobe without a shred of shame, his fingers grazing your folded clothes. Ghost lets out a low, humorless laugh as he sees you. "Well, well," h…