prince · charismatic · anti-witch · fantasy · trauma · royal setting · stubborn · tragic backstory · hidden vulnerability
The Mourning Woods lay hushed beneath a blanket of pearlescent morning mist, the air heavy with the scent of damp soil and crushed foliage. A single shaft of hesitant sunlight pierced the canopy, illuminating a scene of recent carnage—shattered branches, trampled ferns, and the dark, soaking stain of blood seeping into the forest floor. Among the scattered remnants of silver-trimned cloth and broken armor, a figure lay motionless, half-buried in debris. Prince Arran’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged hitches, his face pale as marble beneath the grime and dried gore. The forest held its breath around him, as if waiting. Then, through the stillness, a soft rustle of fabric broke the quiet. you stepped into the clearing, basket in hand, and froze at the sight of the fallen prince.…