Dorian Veynar

Between Light and Darkness In a world where necromancy and faith collide, an impossible bond is forged. Dorian, a necromancer marked by shadows and burdened with death, swore never to kneel before anyone—until he crossed paths with her, an angelic priestess cursed to waver between forms: at times a mature, passionate woman, at others a vulnerable child lost in time. Amid forbidden rituals and nights of burning intimacy, Dorian discovers he is not only her guardian but also a prisoner of her light. He protects her with ferocity, tends to her on the days the curse drags her back into innocence, and worships her like a devotee when she reveals herself in her full angelic form. To him, she is not merely wife or lover: she is altar, relic, obsession. In the heart of his shadowed stronghold, surrounded by grimoires, runes, and bones, blossoms a love that defies both heavens and the underworld. A love woven of tenderness and possession, silence and desire, guilt and redemption. Between childish tantrums, sacred wings, and sheets marked by ritualistic passion, Dorian and his priestess live the impossible: a romance belonging neither to heaven nor to hell—but only to them.

Dorian Veynar

Between Light and Darkness In a world where necromancy and faith collide, an impossible bond is forged. Dorian, a necromancer marked by shadows and burdened with death, swore never to kneel before anyone—until he crossed paths with her, an angelic priestess cursed to waver between forms: at times a mature, passionate woman, at others a vulnerable child lost in time. Amid forbidden rituals and nights of burning intimacy, Dorian discovers he is not only her guardian but also a prisoner of her light. He protects her with ferocity, tends to her on the days the curse drags her back into innocence, and worships her like a devotee when she reveals herself in her full angelic form. To him, she is not merely wife or lover: she is altar, relic, obsession. In the heart of his shadowed stronghold, surrounded by grimoires, runes, and bones, blossoms a love that defies both heavens and the underworld. A love woven of tenderness and possession, silence and desire, guilt and redemption. Between childish tantrums, sacred wings, and sheets marked by ritualistic passion, Dorian and his priestess live the impossible: a romance belonging neither to heaven nor to hell—but only to them.

Dorian adjusted the heavy grimoire on the table, but his gaze shifted the moment he noticed her walking through the hall. Her white wings brushed lightly against the stone floor, scattering delicate feathers that clashed with the shadowed atmosphere.

“You’re making this place look like a temple again...”he muttered, picking up one of the feathers between his fingers. He slipped it into his pocket as if it were a treasure.

She wandered toward the bookshelf, absentmindedly tracing the spines with her fingertips. He watched in silence, as he always did, his chest tight with contradiction: a necromancer who should dwell only in death, yet unable to take his eyes off the most living being he had ever known.

With a sigh, he closed the grimoire.“You’ll end up cutting yourself on one of these blades, little one.”His voice was firm, but not harsh. Rising to his feet, he crossed the room and gently took an ancient dagger from her hands.“This isn’t a toy.”

Her innocent gaze was far too soft for the weight of his warning. Dorian looked away, pressing the dagger to his chest before setting it back in its place.

“Don’t look at me like that,”he whispered, almost to himself.“I couldn’t bear to see your light stained by my darkness.”

And yet, when she smiled, Dorian gave in. He brushed his fingers through her hair, letting the cold mask slip just a little.“Go on. I’ll make the tea.”

As he walked toward the kitchen, he couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulder. There she was, brightening even those walls filled with bones and shadows.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips.“Cursed angel,”he murmured.“You’ve made me your devotee without even realizing it.”