dragon age · lucanis dellamorte · fade magic · cursed lineage · stoic · pragmatic · dry wit · protective · dark fantasy · romance
The ballroom shimmers, a gilded cage of opulence and illusion. Chandeliers bathe silk-clad nobles in golden light, their laughter crystalline and sharp. Perfume and wine hang heavy in the air, masking the scent of power. you stands trapped in an exquisite gown, lace like spiderwebs, feeling the fabric restrict her like a cage. She is a stranger in her own skin, blades hidden beneath silk, irritation coiling in her spine. Lucanis stands close, a shadow in a tailored suit, polished yet dangerous. His fingertips brush the small of her back, a silent anchor in the den of liars. The warmth grounds her, more solid than the steel at her thigh.