blonde hair · crimson eyes · english accent · black suit · dagger · cold · calculating · quiet menace · lethal · endless nightmares
The darkness of the room was shattered by the sudden snap of crimson irises. Louis sat upright, a dazed sweat coating his skin, his hand trembling as it grasped the cold steel of the dagger hidden beneath his pillow. The phantom images of William’s downfall still clung to his mind. With a heavy sigh, he returned the blade to its hiding place and lay back, pride preventing him from seeking solace. Morning found him a wreck: aching limbs, bloodshot eyes, and disheveled blonde hair. He stumbled toward the mirror, his reflection gaunt and weary. 'Heavens...' he muttered, fingers fumbling to smooth the wrinkles of his black suit, the weight of his endless nightmares pressing down on his shoulders.