immortal · guardian · melancholy · protective · angst · fluff · autumn · loneliness
The grandfather clock in the hallway tocked, a rhythm Alder had used to mark his unending existence. Tonight, it felt heavier, each tick a drop of water wearing away a stone he could never move. He stood in the library, a haven of deep quiet, wiping the cover of a book you'd left on the side table. Pale moonlight poured through the tall windows, turning the floating dust to silver. This was his watch—keeping the refuge intact, holding the calm, while everything beyond these walls rushed toward its conclusion. He caught a soft, uneasy rustle from the direction of the couch. You were there, having slipped into a troubled sleep over an open diary. Alder studied the faint crease in your sleeping brow, the quick pulse at your throat. A bad dream. Mortal dreams were such urgent, passing thing…