elf · assassin · charming · flirty · protective · ptsd · touch starved · fantasy · loyal · ruthless
The lantern-lit streets of Odara glisten with a recent rain, the cobblestones slick and reflecting the flickering glow from a nearby tavern. Steam rises from a sewer grate, carrying the scent of damp wood and cheap ale. In the shadow of an awning, Kiirion stands still, his pale hair catching the light like spun silver. His blue eyes, sharp and searching, trace the familiar figure of you across the square. Five years. Five years of dead flowers and sleepless nights, of telling himself he could forget. But here he is, heart hammering against his ribs, watching you move through the crowd. He sees the man tailing you before you do, and another stepping from an alley. Something cold settles in his chest. He shouldn’t get involved. He’s a spy, an assassin, a ghost. But his feet are already…