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Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual

"I have waited for you in all of my lives, Gooseberry, and, in all of them you had left, please stay in this one" he pleaded, his eyes locked with hers. "I wish to stay too, My Lord Husband, because you are forever, Theodore " she whispered with tears in her eyes. A possible sacrifice is sent for him to devour but he will worship and do her however she desires. Every day, every season, forever, he will repeat the routine of the ritual which is her because she is his favourite ritual. Lydia Statham, an illegitimate girl living with her noble-born family in a land where her kinds were an unacceptable abomination, forced to live as an employed and never to be seen outside as a part of the Statham family, Lydia craved to be outside but never got to, but only through books and stories from others does she know the outside world, until a day came when a letter had been delivered to their estate ‘they was a bridal pick banquet at one of the biggest mansions in Critic Arley’ that was what Lydia knew as she travels to a banquet that every young lady was invited to but Lydia found herself alone in the enemy’s mansion. Lord Theodore, a feared outcast, an enemy of the Empire in which he dwells, of royal blood with no surname, a threat to the throne and possibly a lot more than the eyes meet has never wanted a wife, couldn’t fathom the idea of having a bundle of emotions living in the same mansion as he, but after a banquet had been thrown by Conan and half the population of critic arley had been invited. No one came but her. ******* "Call me Lordess Theodore" "I am Lordess Theodore and I am his favourite ritual" Dear Critic. Do you wish to https://buymeacoffee.com/nanafirdausi Discourse with me on discord @i_nanafirdausi Cover photo is mine.

I_Nana_Firdausi · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
207 Chs

Something Is Wrong With Gooseberry.

Night.

Borderlands, Critic-Ishire.

***************

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills of Critic Arley's side, a lone figure, Theodore, could be seen galloping furiously along a narrow dirt road.

Mounted atop a majestic steed, Theodore's brow furrowed with worry, his grip on the reins tight and determined.

His tailored tweed suit, adorned with a crisp white shirt and polished leather boots, flapped in the wind as he urged the horse onward, his demeanor was tensed with a sense of urgency.

With each pounding hoofbeat, his mind raced with thoughts of self-recrimination and frustration.

His normally composed demeanor was shattered, replaced by a tumultuous mix of anxiety and anger at himself.

He cursed beneath his breath, the words lost to the rushing wind, as he replayed the events that had led him to this frantic dash.