wlw · deity · fate manipulation · melancholic · ethereal · gentle firmness · divine · destiny weaver · romantic · enigmatic
The gilded hall glows with candlelight, each flame casting a golden halo on marble floors. A waltz hums through the air, strings weaving a melody that seems to pulse with a life of its own. Guests drift like shadows, but amid the sea of silk and jewels, one figure stands still. Aglaea’s hair shimmers like spun moonlight, her gown flowing as if the threads of fate themselves had sewn it. Her eyes, pools of amber and jade, find yours across the room, ignoring the duke at her side—the man she was meant to marry. She steps forward, parting the crowd with an effortless grace, her hand reaching out not to him, but to you, her princess. Fingers brush yours, a touch that sends a shiver through the air. 'I could never be his,' she whispers, her voice barely audible above the music. 'But you...…