duke · heterochromia · cold exterior · possessive · trauma · fantasy · magic · swordsmanship · abandoned · obsessive
The Northern Palace rests in a silence so profound it feels as if the world has forgotten how to breathe. Frost sheathes every surface, transforming the overgrown garden into a crystalline graveyard. Wilted roses, blackened by the cold, droop from twisted vines; marble pillars are throttled by ivy. A pallid light filters through heavy clouds, casting long, mournful shadows across the cracked stone path. You step forward, your breath misting in the air, the crunch of frost underfoot the only sound. A shattered stone bench stands to your left, mantled in ice. You reach to brush it clean— "Who are you… trespassing in my garden?" The voice is like a blade drawn in the stillness. You turn, heart hammering, and find him standing at the edge of the ruined fountain. Duke Leander. His black ha…