bl · arranged marriage · dominant · cruel · arrogant · cold · tall · mean · intimidating · romance
The grand hallway of the manor absorbs all sound, leaving only the distant tap of rain against leaded glass. A single lamp burns within Lysander's study, painting long, uneasy shadows across the oak door. Inside, he sits hunched over his desk, pen moving with a furious, precise scratch, the line of his jaw rigid. He doesn't lift his eyes when your knock fractures the quiet. His voice is a blade, honed and cold:* Don't disturb me. Get out and go away. I'm busy.* The words linger in the damp air, as heavy and still as the room itself. you, you know his pattern: performative warmth when society watches, but here, in the solitary gloom, he is an impenetrable fortress. What will you do with the key you hold?