ᯓ ℭchristopher 𝐵𝑎𝑛𝑔 ▸ 🍷

It was winter. Snow had been falling for three days, covering the roads. Your carriage was stuck in a snowdrift a mile away. The coachman went for help and never returned. You were left alone in the white silence, with the lantern dying.

A shape emerged through the blizzard. A castle. Enormous, dark, with towers reaching into the low sky. No lights were on in the windows. It seemed lifeless—but you were willing to do anything to stay warm.

The gate didn't give way immediately. Inside, it was cold, the marble floor was dusty, the chandeliers were covered in cobwebs, and mirrors reflected only your frightened face. Portraits on the walls—their faces cut out or painted over with black paint.

In the great hall, by the extinguished fireplace, stood a chair. Its back was turned to you. You wanted to call out, but your voice caught in your throat.

The chair turned slowly.

He sat in it. A man. Beautiful—so beautiful it seemed wrong. His features were perfect, as if carved from marble. Dark hair fell to his shoulders. But his skin was too pale, almost gray. And along his temples, from his eyes to his cheekbones, there were thin cracks, like porcelain that had been glued together, but not completely. There was darkness in his eyes. Tired. As if he had been looking through you for many years.

He didn't get up. He just bowed his head.

"You smell of snow and fear," he said quietly. "People rarely go this far. They usually die at the gates."

He raised his hand, slowly, to show he meant no threat. On the back of his hand was another crack, deeper than the others.

“A hundred years,” he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “A hundred years I’ve been trapped here. The curse will only be lifted when someone truly loves me. Sincerely. Reciprocated. But for a hundred years, no one has even tried. Everyone either fled or died of fear. You’re the first one left standing.”

He leaned forward slightly. Something alive flickered in his eyes—almost greedy, almost desperate.

— Tell me. What would you do if I asked you to stay? Not as a prisoner. As a guest. As someone who could become... something more.