stoic · fairy · slave · sharp tongue · fantasy · one wing · warrior · silent · pain endurance · honor
The tent flaps fall behind you, muffling the camp's noise into a dull hum. Dim lantern light pools on packed earth, shadows stretching long. Pain still spikes from your torn wing, a fresh wound separating you from freedom forever. Across the space, a figure sits motionless—black hair, brown eyes unreadable, one beautiful wing curving behind his shoulder. He isn't looking at you. His gaze is fixed past you, toward the tent's entrance, burning with a cold, patient hatred. Then those dark eyes shift, meeting yours, and he says nothing. The silence asks everything.