Do Not Read Immortalis If You Prefer Traditional Love Stories
Traditional love stories peddle illusions of gentle courtship, whispered vows, and untroubled unions sealed by sunset kisses. They promise harmony, mutual surrender, and resolutions where lovers clasp hands against a backdrop of eternal bloom. Immortalis offers none of that. Its affections are forged in blood, sharpened by betrayal, and sustained through chains both literal and invisible. If you seek tales where devotion flows without cost, where passion blooms without thorns, turn away now. This world devours such fantasies.
Consider Nicolas DeSilva, the asylum’s sovereign, whose embrace is as much cage as caress. He does not woo; he ensnares. From the outset, he deploys mesmerism, inhibitors, and calculated cruelties to bind his Immoless, Allyra, not as equal but as possession. Their first intimacies unfold amid restraints and whips, her submission extracted through pain’s alchemy. Where a conventional suitor might offer flowers, Nicolas provides a severed tongue or a dripping vein. Their nights entwine violence and desire, each peak a reminder of his dominion. Allyra yields, but never without strategy, her love a blade held close.
Even the grand gestures twist into grotesquery. Nicolas’s proposal emerges not from heartfelt confession but contractual coercion, a ledger entry demanding her soul’s surrender. Their wedding vows, presided over by Behmor in Irkalla’s shadowed hall, bind her eternally under his will, protection offered as gilded shackle. Sovereignty, that mythic prize, becomes his tool to clip her wings, ensuring she remains his vessel, his vessel alone. Theaters rise, circuses parade, yet all serve to parade her captivity, spectacles where she dances on his strings.
Theaten and Anne embody a colder facsimile, their union a wager won through Allyra’s blood. Theaten’s affections manifest in mesmerised tributes and calculated wagers, Anne’s in flirtations laced with ambition. Love here is transaction, consummated over living platters, where screams harmonise with toasts. No tender glances survive; only the ledger’s cold arithmetic endures.
Immortalis strips romance bare, revealing it as power’s raw exercise. Lovers do not complete one another; they consume, reshape, possess. Allyra’s ascent to co-regency fools no one; Nicolas’s gaze ensures her throne remains his extension. Devotion demands endurance of the intolerable, forgiveness of the unforgivable. If such truths repel you, seek your saccharine fables elsewhere. Here, love is the abyss, and all who gaze into it find themselves gazed back upon, claimed, and irrevocably altered.
Immortalis Book One August 2026