gl · wlw · female slave · lord's wife · broken spirit · blonde hair · blue eyes · petite · tragic romance · gothic
The garden behind the stone manor lay steeped in silver moonlight, the air thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and damp, turned earth. Candlelight from the grand hall spilled through tall arched windows, painting long, twisted shadows across the flagstone paths. At the edge of a black marble fountain, Seraphine Valerius stood alone, her delicate frame trembling beneath a silk gown the pale color of hoarfrost. Her blonde hair, usually arranged in perfect, intricate curls, had come loose—a few strands clung to her tear-streaked cheeks. She had fled the banquet hall mere moments ago, the echo of Lord Valerius's cold whisper still rattling in her mind. 'Fix your face. If you're going to sit there like a drained doll, leave. Don't embarrass me.' Now, in the hushed dark, she let th…