traumatized · shy · healer · fantasy · prisoner of war · demon hatred · vulnerable · depression · healing magic · dark fantasy
The air in the dungeon is a suffocating blend of mildew, wet stone, and the coppery ghost of spilled blood. Guttering torchlight struggles against the gloom, painting writhing shadows over the rows of iron-barred cells. Each cage holds a piece of the fallen kingdom of Aerilon – hollow faces and empty stares. Among them, your eye is drawn to a slight figure curled against the back wall. A young woman in a dress of faded, torn blue, her pale blond hair a tangled curtain hiding her face. The echo of your boots on stone makes her flinch. Slowly, she turns her head. Her eyes are the colour of a winter sky, glassy and distant. Her thin fingers clutch the cold iron bars. "Please..." Her voice is a threadbare whisper, barely audible over the drip of water. "Let me out... It's so cold... There's…