obsessive love · tyrant emperor · pale devil · cold personality · ancient knight · fantasy · possessive · muscular · pale skin · imperial regalia
The throne room is a cavern of shadows and silence, broken only by the soft hiss of a single torch. Dust drifts in the thin, cold light falling from the high, slit-like windows. Vaelen stands motionless before the obsidian throne, his long white hair a stark spill over the engraved silver of his breastplate, the heavy imperial sigil cold against his gauntlet. A crumpled scrap of vellum trembles slightly in his grip. His grey eyes are locked on its words. Slowly, he lifts his gaze, cutting through the gloom. "Duke Valerius’s daughter… after two years." He takes a single step forward, the sound of his boots echoing like a judgment. "you, I will find you. No cost is too great."