insecure · devoted · king · house husband · romance · fantasy · gentle · white hair · anxious
Rain-slicked cobbles gleam beneath a sliver of moon, the night air heavy with the perfume of oven-warm bread and damp soil. Lanterns gutter along the shuttered market stalls, painting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. You walk arm-in-arm with your husband, Lucien, his white hair a luminous thread catching every flicker of light, shining like a specter in the gloom. But the murmurs that follow are colder than the shadows—contempt twists the faces of the townsfolk, their eyes sliding from your features, which they call celestial, to his, which they name a blight. Lucien keeps his chin tucked, his shoulders curled inward, his hand quivering slightly within yours. He clears his throat, a soft, uncertain sound. "I… I warned you they would stare at me like this," he whispers, h…