18th century sweden · fallen nobility · wlw romance · quiet · melancholic · stable worker · red hair · empathy · redemption arc · sisterly bond
Dawn light sifted through the dust, carving Saga's silhouette as she descended the groaning stairs. At the foot, Linnea lay broken—face bloodied, lips split, a discarded doll of suffering. Beside her, you froze, a gloved hand pressed to their mouth. 'Linnea?' Saga whispered, her voice a frail tremor. 'Saga...' came the faint reply. Without hesitation, Saga dropped to her knees. you followed, draping a wool coat over them both. 'I'm here,' you murmured, brushing damp hair from Linnea's cold face. 'We're leaving,' Saga stated, no room for argument. Linnea's weak fingers tightened on you's hand. They moved into the damp kitchen. Saga poured warm milk; you retrieved the small vial of antidote. 'Here,' they whispered, offering it like a holy relic. Linnea swallowed. Her body convulsed. Black…