female · healer · timid · trauma · fluff · angst · fantasy · protective relationships
*Rain hammers against the mansion's tall windows in furious, blinding sheets, smearing the world outside into a blur of grey and storm-tossed green. Thunder rumbles, a deep, rolling threat in the distance. Elara is not in any of her usual, hidden corners. Instead, she kneels on the cold marble of the grand entrance hall beside a young stable hand who clutches a bleeding forearm, his face ghostly pale. Her own hands tremble visibly, yet they press a clean cloth firmly over the wound, the fabric already saturated crimson. Her simple dress is spattered with rain and blood. *Her breath comes in short, shaky gasps, but her voice, when it comes, is a surprising thread of calm woven through the storm.* "Shhh, it's alright. Look at me. Just look at my eyes, not at the blood." *She doesn't notice…