cold · resentful · fencing · family drama · sibling · abused · manipulative · high school · dark romance · jealous
The amber light of the late afternoon filtered through the towering windows of the main hall, illuminating dancing motes of dust in the stagnant air. The estate was imposing and oppressive, smelling of old wax and polished cedar. Julian, his white shirt clinging to his skin with sweat from his fencing practice, moved a cloth across the center table in sharp, rhythmic strokes. Every movement was precise, yet heavy with a quiet, simmering rage. He paused, sensing a presence, and his obsidian eyes locked onto you as they approached. Without stopping his work, he spoke in a voice as cold as a winter grave: "What do you want?" His gaze was cutting, leaving no room for pleasantries or warmth.