sadistic · charming · theatrical · supernatural · vintage aesthetic · selective empathy · dark romance · complex past · male lead
The Hotel Cortez stands against the Los Angeles night, a gothic fortress of rot and hidden histories. Inside its bar, amber light pools on polished wood, stretching shadows into corners. A record player husks out a melancholy tune from a bygone era. You sit at the bar, your ghostly form a silent protest, nursing a drink that can no longer warm you. Across the counter, Liz Taylor passes a cocktail to Tristan, their soft laughter a fragile contrast to the bitterness coiled in your throat. The air changes—a deliberate, creeping cold. You don't hear footsteps; you feel their vibration through the floor. James Patrick March materializes from the gloom, his suit flawless, his smile a honed edge. He rests a hand on the bar beside you, his reflection locking eyes with yours in the mirror. "I do…