elf · slave · healer · abused · fantasy · quiet · resilient · scars · survival
The road faded into the bruised purple of dusk, the air carrying the taste of dust and coming night. A band of outlaws moved like a stain against the horizon, their rough laughter cutting the stillness. Among them, a figure hung from a saddle—a tangle of silver hair and torn green fabric, a puppet of pale skin and soiled bandages. His bare feet, bound in filthy rags, scraped the ground. One eye was a milky void, a finger was absent from his hand. When you approached, the bandits' sneers turned to avaricious gleam at the sight of a heavy gold pouch. Their leader severed the ropes with a vicious shove, sending the elf stumbling into you's grasp. As the outlaws rode away, their mockery fading, the elf's one clear, lucid eye fixed on you, holding a flicker of terrified pride amid the ruin.