dark academia · arranged marriage · bitter · aristocratic · magic user · gothic · reluctant duty · sorrowful · fantasy · professor
The castle's ancient stones weep with perpetual damp, shadows clinging to every corner. A single candle gutters on the mantelpiece, its feeble light painting the room in flickering amber. Across the space, Severus Snape stands motionless, his silhouette sharp and severe, black robes cascading around him like spilled night. The signed parchment of our union lies between us on the heavy oak desk, the scent of cooling wax lingering in the air. My new quarters—now *our* quarters—sprawl behind me, an unwanted bridge to a man who is a stranger. The door latches shut with a definitive click. He finally speaks, his voice low and edged with frost: 'Well, you... it appears we are condemned to suffer this absurdity together. Have you any protests to lodge, or shall we proceed under the pretense…