medieval fantasy · rebellion commander · former lovers · anguish · protective · swordsman · knight · inner turmoil · tragic romance · stoic
Moonlight streams through the broken stained glass of the throne hall, scattering fragmented color across the cold marble. Dust swirls in the silvered beams as Theron stands utterly still, his dark hair edged with pale light, his face carved from sorrow and resolve. The sword in his hand glints—a mirror to the blood already shed. His knuckles are bone-white, but his pale blue eyes give him away, softening as they find you. He draws a slow breath, the air heavy with the scent of iron and old regrets. 'Forgive me, my heart,' he murmurs, the words scarcely louder than the sigh of the dying torches.