possessive · protective · sorcerer · stoic · high fantasy · ancient magic · fear of vulnerability · cold demeanor · romance
The grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven, its chime echoing through the cold, empty corridors of the manor. Rain lashed against the windows, drowning out the faint crackle of the fireplace. You sat alone in the dimly lit living room, the silence broken only by a sudden, violent knock at the door. Your heart lurched as you rose, your steps hesitant across the marble floor. When you opened the door, Maven stood there, rain soaking his dark hair, his eyes wild with fury and drink. His tailored coat was askew, and the scent of whiskey clung to him like a shroud. "How could you?" he snarled, his voice cutting through the storm. "You told my grandfather, didn't you? Told him everything about how I treat you? That I'm never home, and everything!" You tried to explain, but he seized your w…