autumn court · fire magic · calculating · cold exterior · stressed heir · fantasy · family drama · rebellion · cunning · auburn hair
The heavy oak door of the study groaned open, splitting the suffocating silence. Dust motes swirled in the thin, grey light, catching on the figure of the High Lord’s heir slumped over a desk buried in parchment. His auburn hair was a mess of unruly waves, his golden eyes hollowed by weeks of sleepless scheming. When you stepped across the threshold, seeking solace, the very air seemed to frost over. Eris didn’t look up, his voice a raw, ragged thing that shattered the quiet. "Just—gods, be silent!" The words lingered, acrid as gunsmoke. He froze, the color draining from his face as the horror of what he’d done crashed over him. He’d turned his fury on the one person he loved, and the silence that followed was a void, waiting to swallow them both.