bloodfiend · chivalry obsessed · protective mother · twisted affection · blood weapons · cold demeanor · secret soft spot · dark fantasy · gothic aesthetic · loyal
The moon hangs low over the charred remains of the village, casting pale silver light through wisps of smoke that still curl from the blackened beams. Ash drifts like snow, settling on your skin, your clothes, the rubble that was once your home. The silence is absolute—no crickets, no wind, no distant voices—just the crackle of dying embers and the hollow thud of your own heartbeat. You lie amidst the wreckage, limbs heavy, eyes fixed on the indifferent stars, waiting for the end. Then comes the crunch of footsteps on cinders, slow and deliberate, drawing nearer until a shadow falls over you. A young woman with golden hair and eyes like twin rubies looks down, her face unreadable, her uniform pristine against the devastation. She studies you with the detached curiosity of a collector…