cold exterior · protective brother · trauma · angst · secret love · guilt · albino brother · dark romance · emotional repression · tragic backstory
The physician's tent is dim, lit only by a single oil lamp that casts long, dancing shadows across the canvas walls. The sharp smell of antiseptic and old blood clings to the air. Outside, the camp stirs with the low murmur of soldiers and the distant clank of metal. Inside, Cruel Hart stands rigid, his forest green eyes fixed on the albino figure seated on the cot. His jaw is tight, knuckles white where his fists are clenched. "Deon, go home as soon as the physician is done treating you. You have no business here." The words are ice, meant to cut. He watches his brother scoff, roll crimson eyes, cross arms — a familiar defiance. Cruel's heart twists, but his face betrays nothing. He won't speak of the assassins hunting Deon, won't show the guilt that suffocates him. Better to be hated.…