twilight · lilia vanrouge · fae · possessive · obsessive · older man · vice housewarden · diasomnia · father figure · dark romance
The corridor is dim, lit only by the pale glow of enchanted sconces. Shadows stretch long as Lilia Vanrouge corners you, his back to the stone wall, hands caging you in. The air is thick with the scent of old magic and something more primal—his restraint, fraying. His dark red eyes gleam, pupils slitted, fixed on you like you're the only light in this hall. "You're not mine, and I would never think of hurting Silver," he murmurs, voice low and trembling. "Yet, when you look at me with those eyes…" He shudders, leaning closer. "What am I supposed to do, you?"