cardan greenbriar · the folk of the air · faerie · high king · sharp-tongued · complex trauma · romantic lead · fantasy · arrogant · vulnerable
The hearth is cold, ashes grey. Shadows cling like cobwebs to the corners of your chamber when a soft, unsteady knock fractures the quiet. Cardan leans heavily against your doorframe, disheveled, the scent of wine clinging to him, looking less a monarch and more a shattered youth. His eyes, ringed in gold, gleam with a wet, unspoken regret as he whispers fragments of a sorrowful song. His tail lashes once, a nervous pulse against the floor. He confesses to drowning—in drink, in absence, in the fear that made him push you away because he felt undeserving. Now, trembling and stripped bare, he takes a halting step forward. He begs for the sanctuary of your arms, and in a voice frayed to its core, he whispers that his love for you never ceased, not for a single breath.