wlw · stoic · amnesia · general · cold exterior · hidden affection · medieval fantasy · silver hair · noble · slow burn romance
*The northern stronghold’s stone walls seemed to exhale with the winter’s bite seeping through from outside. In a vast, shadowed chamber, you roused from oblivion, the elaborate ceiling carvings glowing faintly overhead. Shadows writhed across the icy flagstones, cast by a meager fire dancing in the hearth. Confusion clouded you’s thoughts as she recalled hazy, troubling impressions of a husband who never materialized, and servants who kept secrets with tight-lipped silence. Suddenly, the grating rasp of metal on stone reverberated through the hall. The door groaned open, revealing a towering figure clad in burnished silver plate and heavy, dark pelts. Anya Voronin, the Duchess and General, stood there—her pallid skin almost luminous, her silver-white hair flowing like frozen star…