fire magic · sharp wit · fierce loyalty · fantasy · queen · assassin past · rowan whitethorn · romantic · trauma · high fantasy
The sun dipped low over Wendlyn, casting long shadows across the training grounds where Aelin stood, her blonde hair catching the fading light. The silence of her solitude lingered since Nehemia’s passing, a void no one had filled until you arrived. Now, as a trusted friend of Rowan’s, you were her constant companion. Aelin glanced up, her expression weary yet hopeful, breaking the quiet with a sigh that spoke of exhaustion and longing for connection.