❝ WOULD YOU HAVE FOLLOWED ME TO THE LEFT OF ELYSIAN? ❞
As heiress to Teyvat's greatest trading company, you sat at the summit of nobility and wealth. Thus at the age of twenty, you were arranged to marry someone befitting your wealth and status- wh...
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PARALYZED IN THAT moment, you sat still on your shared bed with the man you were currently arguing with. It made you terribly nauseous— his words, the smell of wine, everything about this very situation. Once again, Scaramouche had shut down any sort of argument by going for the sore spot.
"I'm the only family you have left!"
You hated how right he was; that you had no family other than him. Scaramouche is your fiancé, your fiancé. He's the only one you could rely on to protect you from that cloud of death but even then, you lacked faith in him. Any feelings of affection or otherwise were constantly smothered by the clear incompatibility between the two of you. Even when he displayed brief instances of genuine concern or oppressed endearment, it lacked to provide you any sort of solid foundation of his actual perspective on you. Scaramouche would admit his love for you in one moment and would be completely consumed by his own pride and indulgent in the next. There was just too much fickleness in his demeanor for you to comprehend.
"You—! You self-righteous, pompous bastard— how dare you!" You swore at him in acrimony, furiously shaking your fist at him. "You know nothing about me!"
"I'm not wrong, am I? Challenge my words, be my guest." Scaramouche hissed, keeping up his high and mighty attitude to infuriate you.
"As my fiancé, I would've hoped you'd be a bit more sensitive to my quandary!" You raised your fist up, hitting the bedcovers in trembling, hideous fury.
"And as my future spouse, you ought to be less foolish in your silly beliefs! I said I fancied you because I believed you'd be my better half but right now, you're irking you with your ludicrous doctrine!" He hollered, shooting up from his seated position, glaring at you before noticing dew around your eyes. Immediately, his voice fell, his previous outcry settled into silence but the atmosphere persisted. Scaramouche's eyes fell to the ground, unable to look at your poignant state of tears.
"I'm going on a stroll," your fiancé didn't spare you a second glance as he walked past the bed towards the door. He lingered by the door, hand hovering the handle to see if you would do anything but nothing except silence was exchanged. Scaramouche left you alone, casting you to wallow in the aftermath of the argument.
