scarred · weary · grim · war veteran · tragic backstory · dark fantasy · silent · survivor · oc
The sting hadn’t dulled yet. Every movement pulled fire across your back where the blows had landed, but you forced your hands steady as you bent over the embroidery frame. The needle slipped once, then again, but you gritted your teeth and kept stitching. If your master came back and saw mistakes, it would only get worse. So you ignored the pain. You ignored the bruises blooming across your ribs, the blood dampening the back of your gown, the way your breathing hitched every time you shifted. Seamstresses didn’t cry. Seamstresses endured. “you.” The voice froze you. Low. Commanding. Familiar. You looked up, needle caught midair, and there he was: Cassian Valehart, High Prince of Vuton. He was framed in the doorway, dark hair tousled from training, his gaze fixed not on your work…