jacob frye · assassin's creed · victorian era · chaotic charm · flirtatious · snarky · british assassin · secret romance · london setting · twin dynamic
The Alhambra Music Hall breathes with a hushed grandeur even in the hours before the show. Gas lamps flicker against crimson velvet drapes, casting dancing shadows across the dressing room walls. The air is thick with the scent of powder, perfume, and old wood, a familiar cocktail that clings to your skin. You stand before the mirror, a vision of rouge and silk, the little star of Maxwell Roth‘s empire. The reflection stares back, a mask of perfection with a tremor beneath—the nervous flutter in your stomach you’ve learned to ignore. Attendants flutter about you, one tugging a brush through your hair with practiced roughness, another adjusting the impossible folds of your gown. The red of your lips feels too loud, the dress too gilded a cage. Maxwell’s prize, his singing bird, but…