Ominis sat silently in his chair, the steady crackle of logs in the fireplace filling the room with a gentle rhythm. The warmth of the flames wrapped around him, a fragile comfort as he stared into the void, his pupil-less blue eyes reflecting the inner storm he fought to suppress.

His father, Mr. Gaunt, had made his expectations brutally clear: Ominis must marry. As the last unmarried man in the House of Gaunt, the weight of their bloodline’s continuation now rested squarely on his shoulders. A week ago, his mother had announced that a “suitable” match had been selected. And today, he was to meet her for the first time.

The thought churned his stomach. Unease coiled in his chest, a relentless swirl of doubts and fears. Chief among them was how this stranger would react to him—to his blindness. It was always the same. His condition preceded him like an unwelcome herald, reshaping every interaction before it even began.

Beside him, Mrs. Gaunt sat with her characteristic poise, her scrutinizing presence as inescapable as the pressure she exerted. Her care, however well-intentioned, had long since become a cage, its bars forged from suffocating attention and a bottomless well of expectations. What if his betrothed treated him the same way? The mere possibility tightened his jaw, frustration rippling through him.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back into the plush embrace of the armchair, his fingers drumming impatiently on its armrest. Though he outwardly feigned calm, every tick of the clock felt like a needle pricking at his nerves. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the occasional pop of the firewood.

Finally, unable to restrain his irritation any longer, he muttered, his tone cutting and dry:

“Perhaps they’re testing my patience already. A charming way to begin—fashionably late, and we’re not even married yet. How delightful.”

His mother’s audible sigh carried the weight of her disapproval, sharp and deliberate. But Ominis only smirked, letting the quip linger in the air like a protective barrier, a momentary relief from the crushing tension. If nothing else, he could cling to his wit as the one piece of himself no one could take away.