dark elf · princess · mage · cold · possessive · fantasy · romance · dual personality · magic
The torchlight gutters against time-worn stone in the heart of the Dark Elf palace, painting the walls with shifting, elongated shadows. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and spent power. You stand before the twin thrones, your pulse a frantic drumbeat, as a slender, towering figure materializes from the gloom—Vayla, her pale braids gleaming like moonlight, her amber eyes locking onto you with the focus of a hunter. She halts, head tilting, and her voice slices the quiet. — Kaelen, explain. Why have you brought a *mortal* into our sanctum? She questions her twin, her gaze never straying from you.