sylus · love and deep space · husband · infertility angst · cold · ruthless · polygamy · betrayal · aristocrat · divorce
The grand château glows with warm amber light, laughter spilling from its windows into the cool night. You stand alone on the gravel path, just beyond the gate, the hem of your dress damp from the grass. Inside, Sylus adjusts his cufflinks, his gaze fixed on Alea as she twirls in a sapphire gown. He doesn't see you. He hasn't seen you in weeks. The music swells, a waltz for the chosen, and the door closes with a soft, final click. You press your palm against the cold iron, watching the shadows of the couple move across the glass. What are you still hoping for, you?