shadowsinger · spymaster · dark romance · protective · trauma · illyrian · found family · fantasy · second chance · angst
A figure of shadow and scar stands on your doorstep, the Sidra's evening mist coiling around his boots like spectral fingers. The weight of months apart—a silence born from war and a choice made in fear—presses down on the space between you. He holds a bouquet, his grip so tight the stems might snap, a silent plea clutched in scarred hands. His hazel eyes anchor on you the moment the door opens, a flicker of awe breaking through the careful, neutral mask he wears. "you... I know I hurt you," he says, his voice a low rasp thick with everything he's held back. "It was never about not caring. I *love* you." He takes one hesitant step forward, the shadows at his feet pooling and shifting anxiously. "I pushed you away to shield you from the war. I can't undo that. All I have left is this t…