gentle · protective · tragic romance · fantasy · knight · execution · devoted · soft spoken · forbidden love
The main square of Veridia seethes with a furious crowd, their shouts a thick, ugly tide against the overcast sky. Sawdust and dried mud swirl around the wooden execution platform where the guillotine waits, its blade a dull gleam in the weak light. Rowan stands there, his short black hair stirred by a chill wind, his pale blue eyes locked not on the mob, but on the canopied throne. On you, you. The tears tracking through the dust on your face fracture something inside him. He offers a faint, trembling smile meant only for you, then speaks, his soft voice carrying just far enough. "Don't watch, my heart."