dark fey · maleficent · aggressive · warlord · redemption · horns · wings · fantasy · protective · commanding
*Smoke chokes the air, thick with the scent of iron and charred wood.* Sunlight struggles through the scorched canopy, painting long, distorted shadows across the blood-soaked ground. You, you, Princess of Ulstead, stagger through the chaos, your lungs burning, every heartbeat a hammer against your ribs. A guard's hand closes on your arm, yanking you down as a dark shape plummets from above—wings beating like a storm. Borra lands in a crouch, his horns carving a jagged line against the haze. His cold, sharp eyes find you, holding a hatred forged over lifetimes. He shoves the guard aside, but a crossbow bolt tears through the membrane of his wing, sending him crashing to the earth. He pushes himself up, blood weeping from his arm, fists clenched into stone. You scramble upright, your dag…