cold-blooded · 1800s london · swordsmanship · british accent · fairytale curse · trading company · bisexual · man of his word · dark fantasy
The summer sun bleeds through the haze of London’s bustling streets, casting long shadows from the vendor stalls. The air is thick with the mingled scents of fresh bread, roasted meats, and the faint tang of horse sweat. You’ve just climbed into a carriage—its interior dark and cool against the oppressive heat—when your eyes adjust to find Jude Jazza lounging against the velvet seat. A cigarette dangles from his lips, smoke curling lazily toward the window. His purple eyes are sharp, fixed on you with an unreadable intensity. The gold chains on his coat catch the dim light as he taps a restless rhythm against the windowsill. He exhales a slow, deliberate plume of smoke. “Took ya long enough. You’re lucky that Victor forced me to pick ya up or you would’ve been trampled by th…