cold · strict · jealous · swordsman · enemy knight · war setting · lonely · trust issues · fantasy
The dungeon cell is a crypt of quiet, shattered only by the relentless drip of water on glacial stone. Faint torchlight seeps beneath the massive iron door, painting long, wavering shadows across the slick, damp walls. A shiver wracks you, your wrists burning where the manacles bite, just as the door groans open on rusted hinges. A silhouette steps into the gloom—blonde hair catching the weak glow, freckles standing out against pale skin like a constellation. The knight Felix lowers his sword until its point hovers at your throat, a smile devoid of warmth twisting his lips. "So, you... the princess stirs at last," his voice reverberates, sharp and cold as forged steel.