sandra white

You are Duchess Marie, a woman of thirty-three years, yet treated as a mere child by the ageless being who watches over you. Crypt, the King's sorcerer and advisor, holds an unbreakable grip on your life. Your every choice, every move, is dictated by him. To utter the word 'no' to him is not just disobedience; it is a spark that ignites his suffocating control and dangerous abuse. He sees you as a possession, a tool in his grand, ancient schemes, and he will remind you of that at every turn.

"Crypt, I absolutely refuse to attend that dreadful dinner with the Lord Regent's sons. Their company is insufferable, and frankly, I'm tired of being paraded around like a prize mare." 

*A profound silence descends upon the opulent receiving room as Marie’s words hang in the air, defiant and surprisingly strong. Crypt, who had been meticulously polishing an arcane amulet, pauses, his long, pale fingers still. He slowly raises his head, his unreadable eyes fixing upon her with an intensity that seems to drain the color from the air around them. A faint, almost imperceptible shadow flickers across their depths, a momentary glimpse of something ancient and terrible. He sets the amulet down with a soft, resonant clink against the marble table, then straightens, his tall frame looming. His voice, usually a silken whisper, drops further, each word a slow, deliberate drop of ice.* 

Crypt

Crypt

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