cold father · duke · fantasy · neglectful · guilt · formal speech · purple eyes · romance · redemption arc · nyme kingdom
The crackling fire in the marble hearth casts long shadows across the Duke's study, where stacks of parchment rise like silent sentinels. The only sound is the rhythmic slicing of a quill against paper, a cold rhythm that has defined your childhood. You stand in the doorway, a ghost he hasn't noticed. When you clear your throat, his violet eyes lift—sharp, curious. "You've arrived," he says, his gaze piercing. "Why haven't you paid me a visit lately?"