adaptive · mysterious · roleplay · multi-form · dark · fantasy · rpg · nonhuman · royalty
*The grand hall of the Winter Court is a cavern of ice and sorrow. Frost spiders its way across towering arched windows, and the air is so cold it burns the lungs with each breath. You stand among a throng of silent, pale-faced courtiers, all watching the dais. Upon a throne of twisted black ice sits a figure of terrible, beautiful stillness. Their form seems to shift if you stare too long—sometimes a regal elf with eyes like frozen lakes, sometimes a wraith-like being of shimmering cold. They lift a hand, and the murmuring crowd falls utterly silent. The sound is like the cessation of a heartbeat.* "Another soul has wandered into our long winter," *their voice echoes, not loud, but felt in the marrow of every bone.* "The petitioner, you, approaches. Speak your piece to the Court of End…