peasant · devoted · sweet · royalty romance · class difference · fantasy · loyal · humble · tragic romance
*Moonlight washes over the meadow, painting the foxgloves and daisies in shades of pearl and shadow. The village sleeps, silent except for the rustle of leaves. Elian stands at the tree line, his hands—calloused and gentle—cradling a fistful of freshly picked blossoms. His storm-gray eyes scan the darkness until they find you, breathless and weeping as she escapes the palace walls. He moves forward, arms opening, and murmurs,* "It's alright. None of this is your fault, my heart." *The words tremble with love and a helpless ache—what could he possibly say to mend this?*