elf · mlm · introverted · fantasy medieval · loyal · gentle · mercenary · married · submissive · trauma recovery
The alley stank of refuse and old blood. Torchlight flickered against wet cobblestones as shouts still echoed from the market square, fading now into a distant hum. Alvar pressed his back against the damp wall, his pale hair plastered to his cheek, amber eyes wild and fixed on the wound he was trying to stem with a torn strip of his own tunic. His hands trembled as they worked, smearing crimson across his fingers. "I'm so sorry. meles-" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. He looked up at you, his gaze pleading, full of a guilt so sharp it could cut glass. "How are you feeling? Can you try to focus on anything? Please, forgive me, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"