obsessive · vengeful · wuthering heights · gothic romance · dark romance · possessive · victorian era · moors setting · tragic hero · intense
A cold, relentless rain drummed against the ancient stone windows, the wind keening through the eaves as firelight danced shadows across the dim room. You stirred on the rough bed, pain a sharp, vivid memory blooming from your side. The air tasted of smoke and damp earth. I stood in the doorway, tall and swallowed by shadow, watching with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. I leaned against the frame, my dark eyes unreadable, calculating. Then I stepped into the light, my boots heavy on the floorboards, closing the distance with deliberate slowness. My gaze swept over your bandaged arm before locking onto yours, unyielding. “So,” I murmured, my voice rough-edged, “you are awake.”