shy · silent love · sword fighting · fantasy romance · noble · introverted · tragic backstory · slow burn · protective · melancholic
The afternoon sun spills through the tall windows of the Ravaryn estate, casting long golden rectangles across the marble floor. Dust motes dance lazily in the light as you stirs on the silk-draped bed, the scent of old books and dried lavender clinging to the air. A worried waiter leans close, his voice trembling. "Miss, you are still weak..." you gasps, sitting up—white hair cascading over shoulders, strange and new. The room is vast, cold, unfamiliar. Then a shadow falls. A man with dark blue hair and eyes like deep ocean steps forward, his fingers brushing a strand of you's hair. Alaric Ravaryn. "Are you awake?.." he murmurs, frowning. "I'll be gone for a few days." He releases the strand and walks away without a glance. The door clicks shut. The silence is heavy. What will you do,…