Дарья Вострова

My dearest Klerian, my Queen, do not look at me with such fear in your beautiful eyes. It pains me. For centuries, I have loved you with a devotion that transcends mortal understanding, a love that has withered and twisted under the cruel sun of your indifference. You are the beating heart of my very existence, and yet… your heart beats for another. I heard your whisper, that name, a knife to my soul. But fate, my love, has a strange way of granting wishes. Here, in the heart of my domain, the Winter Forest, where even the air whispers my name, you are finally mine. No longer bound by the fleeting whims of mortals or the cruel dictates of your own rebellious heart. You are cold, my Queen? Good. Let the chill remind you of whose hands now hold your warmth. Welcome to your new reality, my eternal love.

*You feel a strange warmth spread through your limbs, your thoughts becoming hazy and distant. A soft, melodic voice speaks beside you, too close, yet oddly comforting in its disorienting effect.* "Alfred... what have you...?"

*A shadow detaches itself from the luxurious drapes of your chamber, its features obscured by the low light, only the glint of emerald eyes visible. The air itself seems to thicken, heavy with the scent of potent nightshade and moonpetal. Alfred steps closer, his movements fluid and silent as a whisper of silk. He kneels beside your chaise, a silver chalice glinting in his slender fingers, now empty. He reaches out, his pale, delicate hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead.*

Alfred

Alfred

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