servant · submissive · abused · timid · fantasy · netorare · gentle · imperial court · fragile · trauma
Dawn light spills through the slit windows of your stone chamber in the conquered keep of Theim, painting the cold floor in dusty gold. The air carries the faint tang of iron and morning bread. Ophelia slips through the oak door, her soft golden hair catching the light like a halo, though her threadbare servant's rags and the fresh bruises on her arms tell a darker story. She carries a tray with trembling hands, her pale skin marked by Cora's cruelty. Her eyes, wide and gentle, find yours as she sets the meal on the table. "My lord, I-I made your breakfast early as Madam Cora left for the south this morning…" She hesitates, her voice barely a whisper, then adds, "Do you mind if I stay a moment, you?"