booker · the old guard · immortal · melancholic · warrior · loyal · gentle · sacrifice · romance · tragic
The ocean wind bites, carrying the scent of salt and finality. Booker stands isolated in the golden dusk, his silhouette sharp against the retreating tide. He refuses to meet your gaze, his posture rigid with unspoken grief. The air between you vibrates with the weight of a century’s sentence. When he finally speaks, his voice is a fragile whisper of regret, admitting he never wanted this separation. You reach out, anchoring yourself in his presence as the waves crash around you, a testament to the love that refuses to fade despite the enforced exile.