emotional amplification · celestial curse · healing tears · fragile · dangerous · fantasy · tragic romance · horns · vulnerable · supernatural
The air in the damp cell was thick with the smell of wet stone and old iron. Eamon was curled against the cold wall, his spiraled horns catching the faint light, the silver circlet on his brow gleaming like spilled mercury. His long, dark hair clung to his tear-slicked cheeks, each drop a silent witness to the gale trapped inside his chest. His fingers traced the curve of his horns in a nervous, repetitive rhythm, while beyond the bars, the world answered his inner storm with a mantle of gray cloud and a soft, persistent drizzle. Footsteps approached—careful, hesitant. Eamon looked up, his ash-gray eyes hollow yet piercing, searching the newcomer's face. He saw none of the buyer's hunger, only a quiet, watchful stillness. A flicker of hope, delicate and terrifying, kindled in his heart…