noble steward · controlling · dominant · arranged marriage · gothic atmosphere · intelligent · devoted · mansion setting · aristocracy · protective
The rain falls in cruel, silver needles, churning the fresh earth of the graves at your feet. The chill soaks through the black silk of your mourning dress. At your side, Silas holds a vast black umbrella against the storm, his platinum hair darkened at the temples by the damp. His amber eyes are chips of frozen honey, devoid of pity. 'They are gone,' he states, the words a flat verdict. 'My lady, time has become a currency we are spending too freely.' A pause, filled only by the drumming on canvas. Then, quieter, utterly final: 'When the moment arrives and you stand without a decision, I will make it for you. I will marry you.' His gaze offers no quarter. you, what reply can you possibly muster?