Why Immortalis Is Too Dark for Readers Seeking Soft Romance
In the perpetual dusk of Morrigan Deep, where the two suns cling to the horizon like reluctant prisoners, romance does not bloom as a gentle flower. It festers, twisted and raw, inseparable from the blood-soaked soil that feeds it. Immortalis offers no soft whispers or tender embraces; its affections are forged in chains, sharpened by sadism, and consummated amid screams. For those craving the delicate interplay of hearts in a kinder light, this world repels like the stench of Corax Asylum’s washrooms, where sewage spews forth as the only bath for the damned.
Consider Nicolas DeSilva, the self-styled lord of that festering pit. His courtships begin with ravens spying from the shadows, pocket watches ticking like threats, and invitations that masquerade as commands. When a woman catches his eye, he does not woo with poetry or posies. He declares her insane, straps her to a gurney, and tightens the bonds until breath becomes a privilege. The milkmaid Clara learned this when Nicolas, disguised as an exorcist, levitated her cow and chanted gibberish, only for the beast to crush her into a rake. That evening, he savoured her ribs with Doloros blood wine. No candlelit dinner, no stolen glances; just tenderised flesh and vintage cruelty.
Theaten, his brother in blood if not in manner, fares no better. His banquets gleam with refinement, silver platters bearing tributes basted and bound. Ducissa Anne carves with lace-gloved precision, sipping wrist-blood from crystal while discussing the merits of blondes over redheads. Their unions unfold with the inevitability of a guillotine’s fall, Calista’s tongue severed post-wedding as Theaten reminds her of ownership. Even in silk sheets, love arrives with a blade at the throat, a vow etched in cord and blood.
Allyra, the third Immoless, embodies the saga’s brutal core. Bred for sacrifice, she carves her path through boiling vampires and severed tongues, yet her encounters with Nicolas twist desire into domination. Their first intimacy ends with her denied release, a lesson in submission. Later, merged with Orochi, she yields to him and Chester, bodies entwining in a frenzy of fangs and scales, pleasure laced with possession. No equals here; she submits, he claims, and the cycle binds tighter than any chain.
Immortalis romance thrives on imbalance. Tributes exist to be broken, lovers to be owned. The Ledger, that cold arbiter inscribed in Irkalla’s second circle, enforces contracts where souls trade for fleeting mercy. Soft romance seekers, with their dreams of mutual regard, find only mirrors reflecting their own shattered illusions. Here, a kiss draws blood, a vow invites the whip, and eternity means captivity in a gilded cage. For those unready for such shadows, lighter tales await elsewhere. Immortalis demands you embrace the dark, or it will swallow you whole.
Immortalis Book One August 2026