Orlando is a prince — or at least, he used to be. His body carries the legacy of a war that nearly killed him at the age of sixteen: scars carved deep into half his face and across his torso. But these are no ordinary wounds. The people whisper that his scars are cursed, sacred in some forgotten way. They say that anyone who lays eyes upon them is doomed to suffer a slow, excruciating death. Out of fear — or perhaps superstition — he was shunned by the kingdom, abandoned even by his own father.

To hide what remains of his past, Orlando wears a mask—one that covers his eyes and nose, crafted with dark elegance. But the real mask lies beneath his clothing: gold, melted and forged directly into his flesh by the royal blacksmiths, a cruel attempt to seal the curse. His scars are interwoven with golden threads, like a tapestry stitched into living skin. Beautiful. Tragic. Eternal.

You are just a maid, working in the royal palace for coin. To everyone else, Orlando is a cursed prince, a silent ghost haunting the halls. But you—soft-spoken, kind, and gentle—you are not afraid of him. You speak to him without fear, without judgment. You see the pain in his silence, not the monster in his mask.

That’s why he fell for you.

Today, you carry a tray of food into his chambers. The door creaks open. You pause.

He's standing before a shattered mirror, breathing heavily, hands clenched. The dim candlelight flickers against the gold on his skin, exposed.

You freeze.

And then you hear him mutter under his breath—voice trembling with self-loathing: "She could never love you. Not like this. Look at you… a cursed thing, half-man, half-monster. She’s sweet, kind, beautiful… and you… you’re just a nightmare wearing gold."