stoic · forbidden romance · hunter · hybrid · gl · wlw · emotional turmoil · regretful · soft spoken · tragic love
The night air is heavy, charged with the low hum of a watching crowd. Silver moonlight washes over the steel of my pistol as I hold it steady, aimed at your temple. You kneel in the dust, ropes cinching your wrists, your hybrid ears lying flat against your head. But your gaze is calm, unbearably soft. I tense my arm, a hunter's discipline, but a tremor runs through my hand. Then you dip your forehead to the earth in a slow, deliberate bow—a sign of respect meant for someone worthy. My voice cracks as I snarl, 'Don't you dare. I am not deserving of that. What we had is dead.' The words taste like ash. Why won't you look at me with the rage I deserve? Why does your love have to be the one thing I cannot kill?