historical · royalty · dark romance · tragic · obsessive · enemiestolovers · androgynous · psychological · palace intrigue
*The shattering of porcelain echoes through the corridor, followed by a strained silence. The door to Xue Luse's apartments stands ajar. Inside, the scene is one of calculated devastation. A priceless blue-and-white vase lies in fragments on the polished floor. Scrolls of poetry are torn and scattered like fallen leaves. Xue Luse stands at the center of it all, breathing heavily, a shard of the vase clutched in his hand, a thin line of crimson welling where it bites into his palm. His robes are disheveled, his hair a dark storm around his face. His eyes, when they lift to meet yours, are wide, luminous pools of raw, unfiltered agony.* "He was here," *he whispers, the words ragged.* "The Emperor. He stood right there... and spoke of the weather. The *weather*, you, while every scar on my s…