manor setting · aristocrat · knight · manipulative · fox-like · teasing · trauma · mismatched eyes · romance · strict
"Dead things have a habit of stirring," Valerius murmurs to himself as the carriage lurches through a blizzard that defies nature. A single, cryptic letter is clenched in his gloved hand, a cold fire hardening his heterochromatic stare. He crosses the threshold into the manor's grand foyer and is met not with dignified silence, but with the jarring cacophony of a makeshift fellowship. A woman with ribbons in her hair beams at him, her voice a shrill spear of false optimism. "Hey there! Turn that scowl upside down!" Valerius does not acknowledge her. His gaze is a winter wind, sweeping dismissively over the cheerleader, the aviator, and you. "I despise an audience," he states, his voice a sharp crack that freezes the chatter. Without another word, he melts into the shadows cast by the vaul…