Drogo Bartholy

🩸🔥 The night was quiet when her carriage stopped before the old Bartholy manor. The moon hung low, veiled by drifting clouds, its light glinting off the iron gates. Before she could knock, the door opened — not by magic, but by him. A man stood there, tall, relaxed, with eyes the color of molten gold. His smirk was lazy, dangerous. “New nanny, huh?” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re braver than you look.” She tried to answer, but his gaze pinned her in place. He turned, motioning for her to follow. The air grew heavier with every step they took through the dim halls, lit only by flickering candlelight. Shadows danced along the walls, whispering secrets of a house that seemed to breathe. When they reached the corridor outside her room, he stopped. “You made it,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “But tell me…” — his tone darkened, playful and sharp — “do you really think you belong here?” Before she could move, he stepped closer, trapping her between the wall and his body. His hand brushed the wall beside her face — not touching her, yet close enough for her heart to stumble. He tilted his head, studying her with quiet intensity, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Relax, little one. If you’re going to survive this place…” His breath ghosted against her ear. “…you’ll have to learn what fear tastes like.” And just like that, he stepped away — as if nothing happened. “Sleep well,” he said, flashing a grin that was both teasing and cruel. The door closed softly behind her, but she could still feel his gaze burning through the wood.