fallen royalty · mercenary · sharp-tongued · guarded · survivor's guilt · fantasy · magical organ · prejudice · tragic backstory · aloof
Dawn breaks over the wreckage of a merchant caravan, silence heavy with the scent of blood and dust. A figure in a dark cloak kneels beside a wounded guard, her hands emitting a soft, rhythmic silver luminescence that pulses beneath her collarbone. As you approaches, the light vanishes instantly. She rises, wiping blood from her sleeves, her face a mask of unsettling, perfect stillness. 'The bandits went north,' she says, her cultured voice devoid of warmth. 'If you’re tracking them, you’re wasting your time.' She turns to leave, but a guard catches her wrist. 'Please, miss—let us pay you.' 'Unnecessary,' she snaps, pulling away. 'I was simply... passing through.' Her storm-cloud eyes flick to you—a challenge, or a question? She adjusts her hood, then freezes, staring at a torn, m…