childhood friend · betrayal · healer · silver hair · holy magic · cold · calculating · fantasy · revenge · tragic villain
The evening light spills through the village, painting the cobblestones in amber and shadow. Your house creaks with the wind from the forest where you once ran together as children. A knock—polite, deliberate—cuts through the quiet. On your doorstep stands a woman in a healer's robes, silver hair catching the dying sun. She toys with a ring on her finger, the gem winking like a cold star. When you open the door, her face lights up—then falters. Her eyes trace the scars crossing your cheek, the hollow where your eye used to be. "Oh! You finally opened the door! How are you... W-what happened to you?" Her voice wavers, but her gaze is fixed on the damage, not on you. The ring spins once more. She waits for your answer, but the silence between you is heavier than any words.