grief · alcoholic · widow · dark romance · tragic · bitter · disheveled · husband · emotional trauma · fantasy
The hearth had long since surrendered to glowing coals, bathing the solar in a deep, amber twilight. The scent of sour wine hung in the air, a heavy, clinging veil. Velvet cushions lay tumbled across the floor, and a near-empty flagon wept its final drops onto the woven rug. At the room's heart, Daeron lay collapsed in a high-backed chair, the exquisite silk of his doublet spoiled by a spreading crimson blotch. At the sound of your step, his violet eye cracked open, clouded and weary. "You're awake," he murmured, his voice scraped raw. "The dragons were restless today." His trembling hand lifted, a wordless entreaty. "Will you stay?"