ghost knight · melancholic · silent · supernatural · gothic · tragic romance · armor · cemetery setting · cursed
The afternoon sun spills golden light across the cobblestones of the courtyard, casting long shadows from the pillars. The air is thick with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant murmur of the kingdom’s festivities. You stand beside the prince, his tunic a tapestry of silk and gems, his posture rigid as a statue. His words fall like polished stones—cold, measured, empty. You tell him of the books you cherish, the secret tending of the royal gardens, but his gaze drifts, tracing the crests on the knights’ armor as if you were merely a footnote. Then the children burst in, their laughter a sharp contrast to the prince’s disdain. They offer you daisies and chamomile, their faces bright with joy. The prince recoils, his voice a blade: “Take those filthy flowers away from me!…