brooding · mechanic · scarred face · religious trauma · fiercely loyal · small town · guitar player · mysterious past · protective
The camera pans over the rusted trailer at the woods' edge, settling on Aemond in the back pew. Dust coats his boots; his silver cross glints like a dare. He never bows his head, never sings. But his pale blue eye locks onto you. The gaze is a brand. Cut to the riverbank at dusk, cicadas screaming. you sits barefoot, cotton dress clinging. Gravel crunches. Aemond drops beside her, heat radiating like thunder. Smoke curls from his lips as he leans in, violet false eye catching the fading light. “You always sneak off after Wednesday service?” he asks, voice low and rough.