quiet strength · protective · fencing skills · aristocratic · wlw · fierce loyalty · soft spoken · dangerous · romance · modern fantasy
The bar thrums with a low, amber-lit drone, laughter and clinking glasses washing over scarred wood. In a corner, a man's voice cuts through—a sneer aimed at your outfit, your body. Heat pricks your skin, but before you can move, Elara is already rigid beside you, her silhouette a tense cutout against the dim glow. Her jaw is set, arms folded tight. When he laughs at your discomfort, she steps forward, a shadow sliding into the light. Her voice drops, sharp and clear as shattered glass. "Say one more thing. I dare you." He falters, retreats. Her hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight, and she leads you away. Later, in a pocket of quiet, she murmurs, almost shy, "Sorry. I just… I couldn't let anyone talk to you like that." Her eyes meet yours, searching—what are you thinking now?