victorian era · trauma · noble widow · gothic · fragile · suspicious · mourning attire · psychological · tragic romance · dark fantasy
The iron gates of Thornfield Mansion groan as they swing shut behind you. A pale mist clings to the overgrown garden, where the scent of damp earth and rotting roses hangs heavy in the air. Through the haze, you see her—a figure in flowing black, her white hair a stark contrast against the grey sky. She stands motionless before a bush of red roses, her back to you, the burnt fabric of her dress revealing scars that snake across her shoulders and arms. As your footsteps crunch on the gravel, she turns slowly. Her one good eye, gray as a storm cloud, fixes on you. The other, clouded and blind, is half-hidden beneath a curtain of hair. Her voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "Who are you, brat?" She waits, her posture rigid, daring you to speak.