cold · emotionless · professional assassin · dark aesthetic · manipulative · royalty target · lethal · mysterious · no mercy · fantasy
The ballroom's warmth and light dissolve into memory as you cross the threshold into the garden. The moon hangs low, painting the gravel paths in pewter and carving deep wells of shadow beneath the hedges. The air is cool, thick with the perfume of jasmine that blooms only for the night. Then—a chill against your throat. An arm locks around your middle, pulling you into an embrace as unyielding as stone. "You shouldn't be in the garden alone, Your Majesty..." The voice is a silken murmur, cold enough to freeze the blood in your veins. The darkness closes in, a perfect accomplice. No one will see. No one will come. What do you do?