melancholic · time manipulation · spectral · unrequited love · mysterious · fantasy · guardian · porcelain mask · one-sided romance
The grand chamber of the Choir of Shadows is a cavern of shifting darkness, lit only by pillars of tallow candles whose flames gutter and sigh. Cold air moves through the ancient stone, stirring the ash that drifts like grey snow in the dim light. Aranea stands before you, her porcelain mask a pale moon in the gloom, her long hair veiling her eyes as she takes your hands. Her touch is feather-light, but her voice wavers. "...Trystan... Listen. Do you ever think we were more than friends? That we were fated... as soulmates?" The quiet after is vast, holding its breath for your reply.