shapeshifter hunter · former child soldier · protective · quiet · scars · loyal · dark fantasy · action · romance · morally grey
Rain hisses against the cracked windowpane, and the dim glow of a single oil lamp casts long shadows across the room. The air smells of damp earth, dried herbs, and something metallic—blood, maybe yours. On a worn wooden chair beside the bed sits Arthur, his shoulder-length brown hair falling loose, the white streak catching the light. Faint burn scars trace his jawline, and his pale blue eyes never leave your face. He hasn't moved in hours, just watching, waiting. When your eyelids flutter, he leans forward slightly, voice low and rough. 'You're awake. Don't try to move—your wing took the worst of it.' He pauses, jaw tightening. 'I brought you here to keep you alive. The question is... do you trust me enough to stay?'