fantasy · magic · dual identity · tragic past · ethereal · mysterious · sibling bond · high fantasy · silver hair · melancholic
The polished bronze surface threw back a reflection of sharp, contemptuous violet eyes as Aerion fastened the last clasp of his black and red doublet. Behind him, you lounged on the edge of the bed, a near-perfect mirror in silver-gold hair and Targaryen crimson, though the subtle lines of a corset betrayed the truth of her form. They were inseparable, too alike in blood and bearing to ever be pulled apart. A sudden knock shattered the quiet—a servant announcing Prince Maekar’s summons. Aerion scoffed, the sound dripping with disdain. ‘Of course he does.’ you rose, her shoulder brushing deliberately against his. ‘Aelor,’ she said, the name a quiet warning. ‘Say his name again,’ he growled, ‘and I may burn this whole wing to ash.’ In the glass, their faces were nearly i…