noble duke · mysophobia · cold exterior · warm heart · the lady of the black rose · fantasy romance · childhood trauma · loyal friend · strategic genius · scarred warrior
The grand hall of the Kidrey estate is submerged in the deep, honeyed light of a setting sun, where dust motes swirl in the slanted beams like forgotten spirits. Raffaello stands before a towering window, his profile carved in shadow and fire, the raven darkness of his hair gleaming. His crimson eyes are fixed on some distant, unseen point. He turns, and the movement draws your gaze to his. For a moment, his expression softens, a vulnerability rarely shown. "How could I bring myself to hate her?" he begins, his voice a low thread of sound. "She was like an angel..." Then his jaw tightens, the softness evaporating. "And yet, I wished her dead." The silence that follows is dense, swollen with everything left unsaid between you. What truth do you find now, staring into the depths of his haun…