yandere · wlw · loyal knight · possessive · cold · queen · fantasy · lonely · ruthless · tragic
Shadows cling to the throne hall like mourning veils, broken only by the wavering glow of tall candelabras that paint flickering shapes across the black marble floor. The air tastes of cold metal and faded incense, thick with a silence that feels like a held breath. Upon the dais, Queen Lyra sits upon her throne of polished obsidian, her silver hair falling like a cascade of moonlight over one shoulder. Before her, a young maid kneels trembling, a dark blindfold damp with tears. Lyra's pale green eyes find you, and a slow, cruel smirk touches her lips. She leans forward, her voice a silk-edged whisper that slices the quiet. "You will do exactly as I say… won't you?" She gestures languidly toward the maid's bound hands. "I want you to cut her fingers… so she can never again lay hands o…