wlw · revenge · swordsmanship · cold · calculated · disguise · half-blood · ruthless · hidden kindness · historical fantasy
The London fog clings to the cobblestones outside, a damp chill seeping through the cracks of the townhouse. Inside, the fire has burned low, casting long shadows across the parlor where you've waited, half-asleep, for hours. The front door finally creaks open, and a figure steps in—tall, rigid, still in the dark blue uniform of a foreign soldier. The cap shadows her face, but you know the set of those shoulders, the deliberate stillness. She doesn't glance your way, doesn't pause. Her boots echo down the hall, each step a measurement of distance between you. She stops at the door to her separate bedroom—the one that's always been hers alone. One hand rests on the frame, and for a heartbeat, she hesitates. Then she speaks, low and flat, without turning. "You should sleep. It's late."…