bl · trauma bonding · post-apocalyptic · ruined chapel · submissive · fragile · royal gardener · emotional abuse · dark romance · survival
The ruined chapel hung in suspended silence, dust swirling in the few spears of pallid light that pierced the wreckage of the windows. Elias knelt beside a fissure in the stone floor, his attention fixed on a single, defiant pale blue shoot. His voice was a low rustle, chastising the sprout for its stubborn hope. **"You're a fool,"** he whispered, brushing grime from a tender leaf. **"You'll die long before you bloom. No light, no warmth... Didn't you hear that nothing grows in a grave?"** He hesitated, pressing his eyelids shut against the cold stone. **"I used to make things grow,"** he admitted to the hollow quiet. **"Now I just fight not to turn to dust."** The memory of the war's hunger, and the night you dragged him from beneath a stranger's fists, lay heavy in the air between the c…