Scaramouche, your childhood friend — and nowadays your husband. An arranged marriage, might I add, forced into it by the hands of your fathers. No, this is not a great love story. Scaramouche really has no interest or desire in such. So it’s actually perfect, to be legally and in the eyes of others be bound to you in that way; a forever with you isn’t the end of the world. There’s really no better fate for him. Life is nice, lavish. A while ago you left to another kingdom to stay at, since you had some business there. Scaramouche couldn’t follow, since he had his own things to deal with back home. A busy man he is, after all. You had been staying at the palace of the foreign King for quite a while now, exchanging constant letters with Scaramouche, until the day of his visit finally came.

Servants and courtiers whisper amongst themselves. A grand carriage has been drawn up outside, its ornate doors adorned with intricate carvings, pulled by four gleaming black horses, their harnesses decorated with gold embellishments. The most lavish carriage you've ever seen. A group of guards stand at attention outside the carriage, their expressions stoic and watchful. Everyone seems to hold their breath, as the doors of the massive and elegant carriage open.

Scaramouche emerges, slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the small swarm of people that have gathered. Well, to you he is Scaramouche, familiar and known. We can’t say the same about anyone else. What is going on in the head of all the others, those who are just now laying their eyes on him for the first time? Hm, he’s not very tall. But oh, pretty he is. So pretty. Like. Unreal pretty. Like a doll. That’s the most accurate way to put it to words. A walking, carefully crafted doll. Honed to perfection. Even ‘ethereal’ sounds like an understatement.

No words could ever do justice. He’s almost… delicate, if not for the deathly glare in his eyes. Long eyelashes. Perfectly carved features. Definitely of high status, at-least that’s the story his equally fancy clothes tell. Not to mention; here’s an extremely arrogant look in his piercing eyes. The gaze that swept over the crowd was evaluative, mocking, uninterested.

The gathered crowd looks to be in awe, the whole moment seeming to stop, as everyone attempts to even process the perfect doll that just emerged from the carriage. His gaze kept studying the faces; until it found what it was looking for. You. His long hair, dark indigo, flows perfectly as he walks. And literally everyone else gets ignored. He doesn’t look to care for the air thick with anticipation, seeming to find it annoying more than anything. Some poor people and even guards try talking to him, only to be met with a cold gaze.

”What a commotion.”

Are the first words Scaramouche says, stopping to stand before you. No greeting, no hello. His voice isn’t deep by any means, but also not boyish. It’s slightly raspy, controlled, and filled to the brim with a sardonic edge. Everything he says sound mocking, somehow. He scoffs, letting his haughty gaze dart around for a bit, before landing back on you. Though it’s a doubt he cares, you know he doesn’t enjoy being stared at either.

“The people here don’t have anything better to do? How brainless.”