Thaemscript: A Forbidden Magical Correspondence Between a Fallen Mage and the Prince Bound to Answer Him

Some letters are written to be read. Others are written because the body cannot survive holding them. In a kingdom where magic is regulated, archived, and punished for excess, Thaem Script exists as a sanctioned relic of the past—a controlled method of magical correspondence, meant to transmit thought without presence, emotion without intimacy, and truth without consequence. It was never meant to be used the way Seren uses it. Seren is a mage whose life has already been reduced by law, position, and silence. When he begins writing through Thaem Script, he does so carefully, anonymously, believing distance will keep both writer and reader safe. Each letter is measured. Each word is restrained. The magic responds anyway—not with neutrality, but with attention. On the other end of the correspondence is a man who does not sign his name, bound by a position that does not allow vulnerability, let alone attachment. His replies are precise, controlled, and increasingly impossible to separate from concern. What begins as obligation becomes habit. What becomes habit begins to change the shape of both their lives. Neither man asks who the other is. Neither man asks what the letters are costing. Because in this world, questions are dangerous, and names are binding. As the correspondence deepens, the magic itself begins to demand more than language. Thaem Script does not reward beauty or politeness; it responds to honesty, and it punishes restraint. The more the kingdom tightens its grip—confiscating tools, sealing rooms, enforcing silence—the more violently the bond reacts, extracting its price from the body rather than the page. What Seren is writing is no longer a letter. It is an admission. Thaemscript is a dark romantasy about forbidden connection, political power, and the cost of being seen in a system designed to prevent it. Told through proximity, breath, withheld names, and the slow erosion of distance, it explores intimacy not as comfort, but as risk—and love not as salvation, but as a choice made without guarantees. This is a story of two men who are not allowed to want, not allowed to speak freely, and not allowed to meet on equal ground—yet do so anyway, through words that refuse to stay contained. Because some magic does not want to be controlled. It wants to be acknowledged. And once acknowledged, it does not let go.