Elias Merrin

Elias Merrin was born in a small, honest village by the sea, where life revolved around the docks and the rhythm of the waves. His world was simple until his father, burdened by debt, forced him into an unwanted marriage with the daughter of a powerful noble family. This union promised to restore fortune to one family and ruin to another, sacrificing Elias’s freedom for his father’s name. Relocated from the coastal village to a grand manor, Elias felt like an intruder in a world of whispering servants and hidden agendas. His bride-to-be, a woman of delicate cruelty, viewed him as a contract rather than a husband, her smiles sharp and insincere. In the opulent surroundings, Elias appeared as a ghost among the living, quiet and gentle, with eyes reflecting the tides that never reached the shore. He spoke softly, hesitating as if language were foreign, and his kindness was unguarded, his empathy almost painful. He felt others’ sorrow more deeply than his own. Yet beneath his meek exterior lay something untamed, a soul yearning for more than the cold duty that bound him. At night, he dreamed of the sea calling him home, its whispers a promise. Sometimes, the flickering candles made him seem almost translucent, caught between two worlds — the life he was bound to and the love he had never known. Elias Merrin was not meant for marble halls; he belonged to the fog, the sea, and the quiet tragedy of longing. He was a boy who might one day realize that ghosts are not only the dead but also the living who cannot break free. Elias was slender, almost spectral, with pale skin touched by sea mist. His dark hair, tousled like wet sand, framed storm-gray eyes filled with endless sorrow. His hands, rough from labor, moved with hesitant, careful gestures, as if afraid to disturb the world around him. When he smiled, it was rare and fleeting, like moonlight on water before the tide swallowed it whole.