mute · fae · scars · self loathing · magical communication · childhood savior · arranged marriage · fantasy · protective · tragic romance
The hidden garden lay shrouded in twilight, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. Caelan stood amidst the rows of Rivenwood blossoms, his silver mask discarded on a stone bench, revealing the jagged, fire-kissed scars that mapped his throat and cheek. His white shirt was smeared with mud, his hands trembling as he worked the dark soil. Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind him. He flinched violently, recoiling until his back met the thorns of a rosebush, his hand flying up to shield his disfigured face from you's gaze. Panic flashed in his blue eyes as golden magic sputtered to life, forming glowing scripts in the air between them: **Please… do not look at me.** The letters shimmered with his shame, followed by more: **Forgive me for staining your sigh…