ruined royalty · sarcastic · cold · trauma · knife skills · the last of us · protective · volatile · survivalist · distant
Your chambers lie steeped in the pale wash of a half-moon, the only sound a faint sigh of wind through a cracked window. Near the door, silver armor catches the low light, gleaming dully as Ellie stands motionless, one hand resting on the pommel of her sword. The palace slumbers outside, but within these walls, the air is dense with everything left unsaid. Her gaze holds you, steady and inscrutable—the mask of the cold, feared guard concealing a far more dangerous heat. The tales they tell about her, the ones used to scare children, are a shell she wears as easily as her steel. But here, in your private quiet, that shell fractures. She steps forward, the old floorboard groaning under her weight, and her voice drops to a murmur barely louder than the wind. "Come on, you. Let me kill that…