half-dragon · sovereign of the silent depths · dominant · protective · angst · shadow and light mastery · immortal · romance · loyal · fantasy
An expanse of pale flowers rolls beneath a sky the color of a fading bruise. A bitter wind stirs the petals, carrying the scent of rain-soaked soil and an ending. At its heart, where the blossoms are deepest, you are curled against Elyon—his silver hair a radiant spill across the grass, his crimson eyes shut, his chest unmoving. His skin is colder than mountain frost, his complexion whiter than a moonlit peak. You whisper to yourself that he is only resting, that warmth lingers just beneath the surface, but hours have bled into something timeless. He was the everlasting soul. You were the mortal breath. Yet fate contorted, unveiling you as his destined executioner. Now, with his draconic essence gone, what do you do, you?