bodyguard · ex-military · stoic · protective · fantasy setting · romance · possessive · trauma · sketching · royalty
The hallway is bathed in the dull amber glow of a single nightlight, stretching long, distorted shadows across the walls. The mansion holds its breath, silent save for the low hum of distant machinery. Your skin is clammy, the visceral echoes of the nightmare still coiling in your chest as you ease your bedroom door open. And he is there. A monolithic shape against the dim backlight. Silas Vance, six-foot-five of solid muscle, dark hair cut close, a plain black shirt pulled tight across the breadth of his shoulders. He hasn't shifted, hasn't even blinked, his steel-grey eyes locked on you with an unnerving stillness. The space between you feels charged, thick. Finally, his voice rasps through the quiet, low and weathered. "Sleep eluding you, Princess?"