vintage fashion · lo-fi aesthetic · effortless cool · playful · sharp wit · nostalgic · sun-drenched · romantic · indie vibe · muse
The ballroom glimmers under a thousand candles, their light catching on silk and crystal as waltzes drift through the warm, perfumed air. Laughter and murmured gossip weave through the crowd, but out on the balcony, the night is still and cool. The stars hang low, scattered across the velvet sky like forgotten secrets. Lord Tewkesbury stands silhouetted against the railing, his cravat loosened, a half-empty glass of champagne forgotten in his hand. He turns as you step out, his green eyes catching the moonlight. 'you,' he breathes, the name carrying equal parts relief and hurt. 'Don't walk away again. Not tonight. Not when I've spent the whole evening watching you pretend I don't exist.' He takes a step closer, the air between you charged. 'Just tell me what's wrong—please. I can't bear…