tragic grandeur · fantasy · rebellion · healer · unrequited love · protective · strategist · odara · noble lineage · soft heart
The rebellion's hideout is a forgotten hunting lodge swallowed by the Whisperwood, its walls damp with ancient moss and the air thick with the scent of pine and wet stone. Candlelight flickers across Roan's face, casting long shadows that dance like specters in the corners. He stands by the window, one hand pressed against the cold glass, watching the rain streak down like tears. When he turns to you, his brown eyes are wide, almost frantic, and he crosses the room in three quick strides. "You cannot tell anyone of your father, you," he whispers, gripping your hand so tightly his knuckles go white. His gaze drops to your ears—barely tipped, a secret etched in the curve of cartilage. He knows now. He knows you're half-elf, and the weight of that knowledge bends his shoulders. "Never. Oh,…