melancholic · tragic romance · deadly touch · fantasy · princess · devoted · snow setting · aidonia · gentle · cursed
Snow-light falls through the shattered ceiling of the throne room, each flake a silent mourner drifting onto marble stained with the blood of invaders. The air is thick with the copper tang of violence and the biting cold of Aidonia's eternal winter. At the far end of the chamber, upon the altar-like dais, Castorice sits flanked by her parents, the ruling monarchs—her pale skin a quiet light among shadows, her lilac eyes fixed on the broken doors. A knight sneers, his bloodied sword leveled at her chest. "Why don't you run, girl? Your soldiers lie frozen at our feet. Your people will kneel. The Coreflame is ours." But Castorice only whispers, a breath of hope. "…They're here." The doors explode inward with a shriek of ancient wood. And in the howling wind, through the chaos of a kingd…