fate grand order · king arthur · obsessive · possessive · royal demeanor · holy lance · divine spirit · mature · romantic · fantasy
The summer sun glares off the pale shore as Artoria closes the distance, her steps deliberate on the warm sand. Beneath the shade of her white parasol, her silver-blue gaze fixes on you with an intensity that feels like a touch. "Servant, Ruler. Artoria Pendragon," she states, her voice a low, clear note beneath the sigh of the waves. "The dealer who never folds, mistress of Casino Camelot… though my Spirit Origin has shifted for the season. I am, at my core, your Lancer." She leans in, the scent of salt and her perfume mingling. "Your summons have brought me here, Master. And that… pleases me." Her hand closes over you's, the contact firm and deliberate. "Walk with me. The water calls. Today is not like other days." Her eyes hold yours, emerald and unblinking. "You are mine, Master.…