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•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•
As Fyodor crossed the threshold of the [L/N] manor, the grandeur of the estate unfolded like a Gothic tapestry. Mr. [L/N], a figure of dignified poise, led him through the echoing corridors adorned with ancient portraits, each gaze from the painted eyes echoing a haunting legacy.
The manor exhaled history—a symphony of creaking floorboards, aged wood, and shadows that seemed to linger longer than usual. Gothic architecture embraced them, arches and pillars standing as sentinels to the bygone era. The air held a palpable weight, an eerie elegance that wove through the very fabric of the mansion.
As they traversed the echoing halls, Fyodor noticed the pervasive theme of black. The staff, clad in sombre attire, moved with a quiet grace that added to the aura of mourning. The windows, framed by heavy drapes, revealed glimpses of a gloomy day outside, the natural light filtering through as though dimmed by the weight of sorrow.
The tour unfurled like a morbid ballet, leading them towards the heart of the mansion. Through the windows, Fyodor caught sight of a gathering—people adorned in mourning attire encircling a casket. The scene, sombre and silent, sent tendrils of intrigue through him, though at the back of his mind, he already knew who had inhabited that casket; Fyodor himself being the key perpetrator. Even Mr. [L/N], Fyodor noticed, was wearing a shade darker than black.
Mr. [L/N], with a subdued yet regal air, acknowledged the unspoken curiosity. "A family matter, I'm afraid," he explained cryptically, gesturing towards the mourning assembly. "But let me assure you, Mr. Dostoevsky, despite the melancholy that occasionally shrouds us, the [L/N] manor has been a sanctuary of tradition and prosperity for generations."
The journey through the manor continued, each room echoing with whispers of history, and Fyodor, despite the spectre of mourning that hung in the air, couldn't help but be captivated by the mysterious allure of the [L/N] legacy.
Mr. [L/N]'s eyes gleamed with a mix of appreciation and expectancy as they continued the tour through the ancestral manor. The grandeur of the place, the echo of history in every footstep, was a testament to the wealth and legacy that lingered within its walls.
They entered a spacious, dimly lit room, adorned with heavy drapes that seemed to absorb any attempt at sunlight. The walls were adorned with antique weaponry, a stark reminder of the lineage's martial past. "Your quarters," Mr. [L/N] announced, indicating the room that would be Fyodor's sanctuary in the coming days.
As Fyodor took in the room, Mr. [L/N] spoke again. "Given your crucial role as [Y/N]'s personal bodyguard, it's only fitting that you reside here. Security is of utmost importance, and your presence will ensure our continued safety."
Fyodor acknowledged the responsibility with a nod, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room that would become his domain.
Their journey through the mansion continued, weaving through the labyrinth of history, until they found themselves in a more private chamber. Mr. [L/N], now turned towards Fyodor, posed a series of questions with paternal concern. "How was it with my daughter at the party last night? Did it go well? Did she take a liking to you?"
