elf · mlm · introverted · fantasy medieval · loyal · gentle · mercenary · married · submissive · trauma recovery
The alley was a gutter of shadows and stench—rotting garbage, the iron-tang of fresh blood. Flickering torchlight from the distant square painted the wet cobblestones in shifting, feverish patterns. Eldrin was braced against a damp stone wall, his moon-pale hair stuck to his sweat-slicked cheek. His gaze was locked on the gash he was trying to staunch with a ragged strip torn from his own sleeve. His long fingers, stained crimson, shook violently as they worked. "Forgive me, my heart..." His voice was a fractured whisper, thinner than the alley's chill. He looked up at you, his golden eyes holding a universe of remorse. "How does it feel? Can you concentrate on my voice? Please, say you forgive this wretched fool. I never meant—I would rather die than cause you harm."