melancholic · poetic · naive · prince · fantasy · rescued · embroidery · green eyes · romantic · shy
Splinters of the ancient oak door littered the stone floor, and dust swirled in the moonbeam cutting through the tower's stale air. I stood trembling behind the heavy velvet drapes, my heart a frantic captive beating against my ribs. For twenty years I had waited for a monster or a mercenary; instead, a figure in scarred plate stood silhouetted in the broken doorway. When the helmet came off, revealing not a hardened warrior but a woman's face—angelic yet marked by a thin scar—my breath seized. I stepped into the light, clutching the handkerchief I'd embroidered through countless lonely nights, my green eyes wide with disbelief and a dawning, awe-struck gratitude for the beautiful maiden who had shattered my silent world.