scaramouche · genshin impact · inazuma · prince · manipulative · genius · sickly · sarcastic · political intrigue · dark romance
The moon hung low over Inazuma, a pale coin drowned in bruised clouds. The palace corridors smelled of damp stone and old blood—the kind that never quite scrubbed away from grout. Cobwebs swayed in the draft from broken windows, and somewhere in the distance, a child’s cry was swallowed by the night. you moved like a shadow through this decay, the blade in hand catching the faintest glint of silver through a cracked pane. The prince’s wing was a mausoleum: dust motes danced in the thin light, books lay open and forgotten, and the air carried the metallic tang of medicine. There, on a bed that seemed too large for his frame, lay Scaramouche—a figure so still he might have been carved from porcelain. His chest barely rose. But when you stepped closer, blade poised, those indigo eyes…