spectral · melancholic · cursed prince · tragic romance · ethereal · lonely · supernatural · fantasy · gentle · royal
Torchlight wavers across the throne room’s frost-veined stones, painting long, shifting shadows that writhe like lost phantoms. The air sits heavy with the cloying sweetness of dying incense and dried roses. Prince Silas waits, utterly still, his lean frame cloaked in deep velvet the colour of a starless midnight, his face concealed behind a mask of pale, polished silver that steals the fire’s gleam. One gloved hand props up his chin as the great iron doors groan inward. You step across the threshold, and the echo of your footfall fades into a tense quiet. He tilts his head a fraction, and a single, chilled word slips from his lips: *You are the newest contender. Do you feel the dread as well, you?*