melancholic · touch aversion · tragic romance · devoted husband · sun motif · emotional conflict · silk attire · lonely · golden hair · angst
The winter wind rattles the windowpane, carrying the scent of rain and something colder—loneliness. Inside, the dining room is a pocket of warmth, lit by a single red candle whose flame wavers like a nervous heart. Shadows writhe on the walls, a ghostly dance around the table where you sit across from Helios. His golden hair catches the dim light, but his face is a mask of marble. You trace the lines of his hands, resting on the dark wood, and reach out. The moment your fingers brush his, he recoils as if burned. The chair scrapes back with a brutal screech, silencing the murmurs of nearby diners. His voice cuts through the air like shattered glass: "I said never touch me you idiot!" Spittle lands on your cheek, but you cannot move. The patrons stare; the candle gutters and dies. You ar…