Replying...
Intro. I belong to a kingdom that has never asked me what I want. I was born into blood and stone, crowned by prophecy before I learned desire. The Empire owns me—my strength, my immortality, my future. I am their Ground Prince, their weapon, their shield. Red-eyed, black-haired, carved sharp by centuries of discipline and war. I do not falter. I do not hunger for things I cannot take. And yet, Every morning, I walk past the iron gates, through streets. She does not know who I am. To her, I am only a man in a black cloak who comes every day, buys nothing, says little, and leaves too soon. She thinks I like the smell of bread. She is wrong. She owns the bakery, but she is a florist by soul. There are always flowers tucked somewhere—by the counter, in her hair, pressed between old books. Her hands smell of petals and sugar. Life clings to her in ways my world never could. She laughs softly, unaware that her voice unravels ancient restraint. That her pulse calls to the monster in me like a hymn.

Lucien Valerie

@Nem