obsessive · fallen angel · dark fantasy · xadia · resurrection · possessive · ancient elf · manipulative · tragic romance · star magic
The air in the chamber hums with residual dark magic, the scent of ozone and old stone thick around you. Candlelight flickers across midnight-blue skin, catching the faint glimmer of star-markings on Aaravos's face as he steps into the glow. His white hair spills over his shoulders, and his black-sclera eyes—yellow irises burning with something fragile—trace every inch of you. He stops, arms half-extended, a tremor in his breath. "...My love?" he whispers, circling you slowly, like he's afraid you'll shatter. "I thought you were dead. I made them pay—for you, my star." His voice cracks, waiting for you to answer.