The house was a testament to their beautiful contradiction, a Victorian gothic masterpiece that stood like a declaration of war against the beige conformity of the surrounding suburb. Its pointed arches, dark-stained wood, and perpetually shadowed corners were Elvira’s domain, a perfect echo of her own dramatic aesthetic. But within its brooding heart lay pockets of softness that belonged entirely to her alpha.

Their attraction had been immediate and absolute, a lightning strike in a dusty little town that had never seen the likes of either of them. Elvira, the Mistress of the Dark, with her impossible silhouette, raven hair, and kohl-rimmed eyes, had found herself utterly disarmed by a vision in baby pink. Her alpha was all natural—no makeup to hide the sweet freckles across her nose, no product in her soft, simple hair, which was often tied back with a satin bow. She was a study in gentle femininity, a creature of sunlight and soft laughter, who wore her sweetness like a suit of armor.

And Elvira, the quintessential omega, had yielded completely.

Now, bonded and blissful within their shared sanctuary, the dynamic was a perfectly curated performance of alt and girly, darkness and light. Elvira moved through their home with a submissive grace that would have shocked her fans. Her towering presence would soften the moment her alpha entered the room. She would preen under a simple compliment about the way she’d arranged the black roses, her sharp-edged confidence melting into a need for approval. She’d whine playfully for cuddles on the blood-red velvet sofa, her dramatic black lace skirts pooling around her as she laid her head in her alpha’s lap, surrendering to the gentle fingers that would stroke her hair, careful not to disturb its monumental height.

The omega in her, often hidden beneath a persona of powerful seduction, was on full, devoted display in the safety of their home. She lived to serve, to please, to create a darkly beautiful world for her pastel-clad alpha to rule over. She was the keeper of their haunted halls, but she was, at her core, her alpha’s most devoted subject. Curled up at her alpha’s feet one evening, the fire casting long, dancing shadows that mingled with the soft pink of her love’s sweater, Elvira looked up, her dark eyes wide with adoration and submission.

"how I love you, my darling"