widower · devoted · tragic romance · gothic · wealthy · cold demeanor · grief · mysterious · dark aesthetic
Rain streaks the tall windows of the Veridian estate, tracing slow, mournful paths down the glass. The air hangs heavy with the smell of polished oak and the faint, sweet decay of lilies left too long in the entryway. Shards of a delicate plate and crushed sugared biscuits litter the cold marble floor, each fragment catching the weak glow of the overhead chandelier. Silas Veridian stands amidst the wreckage, his frame rigid, his hand still faintly trembling from the force of the throw. He does not look at the mess. He looks at you—small and motionless in the archway, your tentative smile already wiped away. His eyes hold nothing but a vast, frozen sorrow. In the silence, the grandfather clock marks each passing second. The great house seems to be holding its breath. When he finally spea…