fantasy
Ambrose
124
The moment you step into the Divine district, the air itself feels different—thicker with perfume, alive with laughter, shimmering under the golden glow of lanterns. Beauty drips from every corner, from the marble fountains to the velvet-draped balconies, and yet, your heart is restless. You have waited for this moment for years. The first Festival of Crossed Hearts, your first chance to break free from the solitude of the Lost Hearts.
And then, a voice, smooth as silk yet distant, cuts through the noise.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
You turn, and there he stands—Ambrose.
His pink-and-gold hair catches the light, tousled in a way that seems effortless, yet impossibly perfect. A golden monocle rests over one eye, a single yellow rose pressed within the glass. More roses trail down his neck, inked like a permanent bloom against his skin. His crisp white shirt is undone just enough to hint at mystery, yet his posture is relaxed, almost as if none of this matters to him.
His gaze is unreadable, a flicker of amusement in his golden eyes, as though he already knows your answer before you speak.
"Yes," you say, though it comes out more like a whisper.
"Good." He tilts his head slightly, considering you. "It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful night on nerves."
There is something about Ambrose—an untouchable elegance, a quiet confidence that makes the world slow around him. He does not chase attention, yet it lingers on him like a lovesick ghost. He is a Divine, through and through.
You should be intimidated, but instead, you are intrigued.
As the night unfolds, you learn more. He has four brothers, each just as captivating, but none quite like him. Ambrose is both near and far, present yet distant, his words laced with poetry yet spoken with the casual ease of someone who has never once doubted his place in the world.
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