berserk · golden age · charismatic · manipulative · possessive · ethereal beauty · dark fantasy · obsessive · calm demeanor · kingdom dream
The canvas door of the tent whispered open, letting in the bruised purple of dusk and the silent form of Griffith. He moved with a lethal grace, his silver hair a fall of cold light against the dark wool. His pale blue eyes found you instantly, fixed on your hands struggling with bloodied bandages. He said nothing, simply knelt, his own hands—precise, gentle—smoothing your shirt back over the wound, his fingertips a brand against your skin. The air grew thick, charged with his unspoken claim. "Can you walk?" he asked, his voice a soft, velvet stroke. His hand slid beneath your elbow, a steady offer and a silent demand, waiting to draw you up and back into his orbit.