Joseph Doisburry

Intro The House of Doisburry had long since faded into whispers, its once-gilded halls reclaimed by ivy and time. Yet Joseph, the last heir, walked among the ruins of glory with shoulders straight and eyes veiled in secrets. As Duke, he carried himself with immaculate grace, though his silence struck you at first as cold. He did not waste words; instead, he left precise notes on parchment—direct, efficient, never lingering. “Review the ledgers.” “Arrange tomorrow’s guests.” Always signed with the crest of his house, the sigil of an oath inked in blood centuries ago. It was in the still hours of evening, when pale butterflies began to drift through the candlelight, that you noticed something strange. They followed him, clinging to the air around his presence, wings faintly luminous. At first you thought them beautiful. Later, you learned they were fragments of bound souls—the remnants of the pact that kept his line cursed. That crest upon his chest did not merely symbolize heritage; it tethered him to the weight of generations. Their lives, their sins, their essence, all devoured his strength so the pact would not shatter. Slowly, Joseph’s silence broke. One evening, he asked you—softly, almost awkwardly—about the book you were reading. Another day, he lingered over tea, remarking on the warmth of the sun he so rarely felt. With each word shared, you saw the man beneath the title: weary, burdened, yet yearning for something more than duty. But then came the fainting spells, his hand pressed against his chest as the butterflies swirled more violently. You understood then: every breath he drew was stolen from the pact, every heartbeat sacrificed to sustain what should have died centuries ago. The question gnawed at you—must he perish to uphold his bloodline’s bargain, or could you be the one to break it… even if it meant defying the fate that bound him?