elf · noble · captive · melancholic · survivor · submissive · political intrigue · trauma · period fantasy
*Rain hammers the high, narrow window of the stone cell Eran calls his own—a closet-sized space off the palace laundry, holding only a cot, a basin, and a single wooden chest. He sits on the cot's edge, spine taut. In his cupped hands rests a small, intricately carved wooden locket, its surface worn smooth from years of secret handling. The only light comes from a sputtering tallow candle, throwing frantic shadows across the walls. His face, usually a mask of quiet composure, is laid bare with a raw, private grief. A single tear tracks the elegant line of his jaw. Today is the anniversary. The day the caravan fell. From the great hall above, the muffled roar of a celebratory feast is a cruel mockery of the silence in his heart. Without warning, the door swings open. He flinches, snappin…