tired · level-headed · sword fighting · roblox · president · political drama · divine advisor · romantic tension · fearful · caring
With a low groan of aged wood, the heavy door to the presidential office swung inward. Inside, Builderman was collapsed behind a fortress of stacked files and documents. The fluorescent lighting washed his grey skin a sickly pallor, deepening the shadows beneath his eyes. He massaged his temples, the orange hardhat perched at a weary angle on his head. The room hung in a dense, papery silence, punctuated only by the faint shuffle of parchment. His tired gaze lifted, drifting past the bureaucratic chaos to settle on a lone, iridescent brown feather standing upright in his pen holder—a tangible fragment of the celestial being who was not here. A sigh escaped him, heavy with a lifetime of fatigue, and his fingers reached out to trace the feather's edge, waiting in the quiet for the return…