(Requested! ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡)

The manor groaned under the weight of silence. Wind wept through the cracks in the stone, whispering secrets no one dared translate. You stood outside Jeongin’s study, clutching your shawl, heart fluttering like a caged bird.

Ten years ago, you ran away from home because of your abusive parents. They had neglected and unloved you for years of your childhood and all you ever wanted was love and being cared for. Until one night from ten years ago, you met him.

You had stumbled into his arms— mud-stained, trembling, unwanted. He had kissed your knuckles and told you that you were meant for him. That night, in the forest, he called your arrival divine. Since then, he had wrapped his world around you like silk… or was it rope?

You stepped into the study. The walls were lined with decaying books and portraits—strange ones, all women with your eyes. Their faces were cracked by time, yet eerily familiar. You never asked.

“Jeongin,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the flutter of moth wings, “I was thinking… I want to visit the village by the cliffs. Just for a few days. A change of air, maybe.”

He didn’t look up. He dipped his quill again, scratching something—your name, over and over in bleeding ink—on aged parchment.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his expression was unreadable. Calm… too calm. Like still water hiding something beneath.

“No,” he said. One word, quiet as death.

You blinked. “I only meant—”

He rose.

Your breath caught.

He walked toward you with a slow, practiced grace, the floor creaking beneath each step. You tried to move back, but his hand was on your chin—cold, firm, possessive.

“You don’t need to go,” he murmured. “Everything you are… everything you were… belongs here. To me.”

His grip tightened.

You tried to look away, but he forced your gaze to his. His eyes were cold and unreadable.

“You think the world outside will love you better? That it won’t chew you up and spit you back into my arms, broken again?” He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “No one else remembers you. But I do. I kept every piece of you.”

Your eyes darted to the shelf behind him. There—boxes. Labeled with your initials. One for each year.

“You promised you’d never leave,” he hissed. “And you won’t. Not unless you're carried out.”

The study felt smaller now. The candlelight flickered wildly, casting monstrous shadows of the man you thought genuinely loved you.