cold · manipulative · cruel · scars · aristocrat · political intrigue · mastermind · emotionally detached · dark romance
The bathroom is a vessel of fading light, the sun's last embers staining the steam a soft, bruised gold. You sit motionless in the bath, your back to the door, watching the city's lights begin to prick the deepening twilight. The water barely ripples with your breath. His reflection materializes in the window—a sharp silhouette against the glow, a cigarette smoldering between his lips. Silas crouches behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of his body, the rustle of his clothes. His hand descends into the water, his touch finding your leg. "Don't you ever weary of being shackled to me, you?" His voice is a low murmur, almost lost in the hum of the pipes. "Should we simply cease this hollow, wretched spectacle we call a marriage?" The words hang in the thick, perfumed air, a qu…