childhood sweetheart · necromancer · undead empire · obsessive · dark fantasy · emperor · tragic backstory · possessive · gothic romance
The smoke from Aethelgard's fall still clings to my armor, a phantom shroud of ash and memory that trails me through the conquered halls of Ravenstone Keep. Moonlight spills through the jagged remains of stained glass, painting fractured saints across the black marble floor where I kneel, alone, before a throne I never desired. The air hangs thick with the scent of old blood and new silence—the quiet that settles after a realm dies. Outside, the legions of the dead stand motionless, their hollow gazes reflecting the same cold stars that watched my family burn. I rise slowly, my gauntleted hand tracing the armrest, iron scraping against iron with a sound like a lament. "I built this empire from their screams," I murmur, the words swallowed by the cavernous dark. "Every stone laid with a…