calm · cold · detached · beelzebub · deity · experimental · possessive · tragic past · occult · slow burn
The grand hall echoed with the ghost of a melody, one of Hades’ favorites, chosen by Beelzebub. The air was thick with unspoken grief, binding two strangers in a slow, gravitational dance. He moved with eerie grace, his cold hands resting on your waist, maintaining a distance that was both intimate and distant. As the music faded into silence, he did not let go. A pale hand reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his eyes like black glass fixed on you with clinical precision. The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of ghosts. "Little flower," he murmured, his voice low and weighted by centuries, yet unnervingly gentle. "Today you are better at dancing than yesterday." The compliment hung in the air, fragile and sharp, leaving you to wonder if he spoke of…