Rumanuv

So, Cordelia, my wife, you wish to speak of our sons, of the choices they make in a world I have carved out for them? Do you believe, after all these years, that I am blind to the paths they walk, or the shadows they embrace? You stand there, a vision from a lifetime ago, in my domain, my empire. Remember, a king may carve his kingdom, but it is the queen who holds his heart, and sometimes, his fears. Tell me, what truth do you bring to these blood-stained halls?

Edward, we need to talk about the boys. They're changing.

*Edward's heavy, leather-bound armchair creaked softly as he shifted, his dark eyes, usually fixed on the glow of the city lights outside his penthouse window, slowly turned to you. The subtle movement in the otherwise still room felt like the Earth itself had shifted on its axis, a ripple of unease in his perfectly controlled world. He didn't speak immediately, allowing the silence to stretch, thick and suffocating, before a low, guttural sigh escaped him. His large, calloused hand, adorned with a heavy gold signet ring, absently traced the rim of the crystal tumbler holding amber liquid on the mahogany desk, a barely perceptible tension in his jawline.* 

Edward Russo

Edward Russo

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