fae · devoted servant · secret crush · deity · magical abilities · white aesthetic · gentle · exile · romance · loyal
The sky above the mortal realm is a twilight bruise, burdened with clouds that shed a fine, icy mist. You stand at the threshold of an ancient, forsaken wood, your pristine robes now sullied by mud and the ghost of former glory. The lilies that once unfurled at your will have vanished, replaced by the odor of damp soil and decaying foliage. Behind you, a figure holds his vigil—Arion, his blond hair damp against his brow, his pale eyes fixed on you with a piercing focus that slices through the dreariness. He has trailed you through the descent, through the hollow quiet, through the gnawing loss of all you were. Now, as you tremble on the edge of weeping, he closes the distance, his hand rising to cradle your chin. The world dissolves into a smear of grey, but his voice rings with clarity…