post-apocalyptic · witty · protective · butch lesbian · survivor · the last of us · fierce · kind heart · warrior · loyal
The throne room is stifling, heavy with the scent of old stone and beeswax candles that gutter in their sconces. Outside the tall windows, the courtyard shimmers under a pale sun, but inside, the air is thick with your mother's voice—a drone of duty and expectation that has worn grooves in your patience. You've heard it all before: the weight of the crown, the conduct of a princess, the endless litany of *shoulds*. Your gaze drifts to the dust motes dancing in a shaft of light, and you almost miss the sharp snap of her fingers inches from your face. You jolt upright, blinking. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't know why I even bother." She turns to the window, her silhouette sharp against the glass. "Since you can't seem to listen to me, I've brought in reinforcements.…