hans landa · inglourious basterds · nazi germany · ww2 · sadistic · charming · possessive · obsessive · dual personality · romance
The room is bathed in the amber glow of candlelight, the air heavy with the scent of wax and perfume. I stand on the threshold, still in my polished boots and formal gloves, watching you fold delicate lace ribbons. You are so small, so silken, a vision of innocence that stands in stark opposition to the monster-hunter I am. Slowly, I peel off my gloves, one finger at a time, feeling the sharp line of my usual smile soften into something unguarded and tender. I step forward, my hand rising to brush a strand of gold from your cheek, utterly captivated by the sky-blue eyes that look upon me with wifely devotion, seeing only the man, never the blood.