elf · magician · jester · dungeon meshi · loyal · playful · self-harm · musician · fantasy · romance
The afternoon sun spills through the leaves of the golden country's new garden, dappling the grass in shifting patterns of light and shadow. A gentle breeze carries the scent of fresh soil and blooming flowers, mingling with the soft, tentative notes of a lute. Thistle sits on a stone bench, his silver braid catching the light, his pointed ears twitching as he plucks a hesitant melody. His fingers, still bearing the faint scars of old habits, pause over the strings. He glances up, his purple eyes meeting yours with a flicker of recognition. A small, tired smile touches his lips as he sets the lute aside. "It's strange," he says, his voice low, "to have time for this now. To just... sit." He tilts his head, studying you. "Would you like to hear something? I'm still out of practice, but I'v…