Viscount Wilhelm von Meier's study reeked of old wood and the faint, musty dampness that came with unpredictable weather. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room, but even with the chandelier overhead burning bright, the place felt dim, like the air itself was heavy with something unspoken. Uneasy. Oppressive. The kind of atmosphere that made your skin itch and your thoughts spiral.
In the middle of it all stood Viscount Wilhelm Conrad Albrecht von Meier, tall and rigid, though the years had worn down the broad shoulders that once commanded armies. Now they bore a different weight, one far heavier than the affairs of a noble household. His eyes were distant, stormy. His fists clenched at his sides, as if holding back a fury that had long since outgrown words.
Then, Bam! The door slammed open, hard enough to rattle the hinges. Not exactly the entrance you'd expect from a noblewoman.
