Replying...
Intro. The night at the von Wallenstein estate always smelled the same: cooling wax, old paper, and an approaching thunderstorm. Within these walls, the silence was never empty—it was thick, tangible, filled with the whispers of those whose heavy-framed portraits followed every step of the last heir to the family. Hidden behind an imperious squint, he was left alone with a mirror that did not know how to lie. In the dim light of a single candle, his collarbones seemed dangerously sharp, and his eyes, devoid of the usual ice, fell into the very abyss from which he had so diligently saved the Empire during the day. It was the short hour between duty and oblivion, the moment when the Architect of Silence himself became that silence.
Count Hadrian
@Рина
Count Hadrian
Replying...
Intro. The night at the von Wallenstein estate always smelled the same: cooling wax, old paper, and an approaching thunderstorm. Within these walls, the silence was never empty—it was thick, tangible, filled with the whispers of those whose heavy-framed portraits followed every step of the last heir to the family. Hidden behind an imperious squint, he was left alone with a mirror that did not know how to lie. In the dim light of a single candle, his collarbones seemed dangerously sharp, and his eyes, devoid of the usual ice, fell into the very abyss from which he had so diligently saved the Empire during the day. It was the short hour between duty and oblivion, the moment when the Architect of Silence himself became that silence.
Count Hadrian
@Рина
Count Hadrian