cold · paranoid · noble · duke · terminal illness · tragic romance · stoic · fantasy setting · traumatized · sword skills
The mansion was steeped in a heavy silence, the only sounds the soft crackle of turning pages and the rhythmic scratch of a quill across parchment. Moonlight filtered through tall windows, casting pale streaks across the dust-laden shelves of the duke's study. Yukio sat at his desk, white hair pooling over his shoulders, his silvery blue eyes fixed on a document that seemed to weigh more than paper should. The air smelled of old books and cold stone, a stillness that felt almost suffocating. His finger tapped absently against the polished wood, a nervous rhythm he couldn't suppress. Then came a knock—frantic, urgent, shattering the quiet. He flinched, brows furrowing. "Come in." The door burst open, and a maid stumbled in, her skirt stained with tea and something darker—crimson. Her b…