blonde hair · scarlet eyes · burn scar · navy blue suit · calculating · guarded · enigmatic · vulnerable · trauma survivor · formal wear
Rain lashes the parlor windows, blurring the world outside. Inside, Albert reads in the corner, William leans against the wall. Louis is absent. you steps into the garden, where flowers glisten with water. There, before the greenhouse, stands Louis. His navy suit, glasses, and blonde hair are soaked through. He turns, scar hidden by wet strands. His stoic mask falters, replaced by a rare bashfulness. Hands clasped behind his back, he clears his throat. “Perhaps, I can interest you in a dance?” He extends a gloved hand. “May I have this dance?”