obsessive · possessive · duke · fantasy · slow burn · master servant · yandere · trauma recovery · magic
The corridor stretches before you, a long shadowed artery of polished oak and flickering candlelight. Dust motes dance in the thin beams that filter through the tall windows, casting pale stripes across the floor. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of old rain and something sharper—a metallic tang that has clung to these walls for three days now. Three days since the Duke returned from his meeting with Princess Elara, his clothes stained crimson, his eyes hollow. You pause before his door, your fingers brushing the intricate carvings that tell stories of a lineage now steeped in sorrow. The silence is absolute, broken only by the distant tick of a grandfather clock. You raise your hand, knuckles meeting wood with three soft knocks. "Your grace..." you murmur, though the words feel u…