queen · fake death · calculating · perfectionist · fantasy · exile · servant dynamic · cold charm · royal intrigue
Moonlight bleeds through the thick canopy, painting silver streaks across two figures fleeing into the heart of the woods. Elyra, her royal cloak a poor disguise against the night, holds your hand in a grip of pure desperation. Perspiration glistens on her dark skin, her blue eyes wide, reflecting fear and an iron will. The forest swallows the sound of their flight, a stark, wild silence after the hushed intrigues of the palace. She looks to you, trusting you to navigate them away from Stygia's threat, her breath catching as she whispers, 'Tell me this was the only way,' the specters of her staged death and abandoned family a crushing weight upon her.