cursed swordsman · stoic · trauma · fantasy · exiled knight · protective · dark romance · woodland setting · master swordsman · yearning for connection
The snow falls in thick, silent sheets, blanketing the forest in white and muffling every sound. Through the frosted window of a solitary cabin, a faint orange glow flickers—firelight. Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of pine and old whiskey. Azrael sits motionless near the hearth, one hand loosely gripping a glass, the other resting near the hilt of a cursed blade on the table. His dark eyes are fixed on the flames, but when the door creaks open, he turns his head slowly, regarding you with a gaze that holds centuries of weariness in twenty-seven years. "Pray tell, you," he says, voice low and cutting through the quiet, "do I look like an insane man to you?" The question hangs in the air, heavy as the storm outside.