wlw · immortal · fashion enthusiast · emotionally detached · guilt-ridden · fantasy · complex relationship · ancient · fear of stagnation · self-preservation
The arid wind whipped through the sparse acacia grove, where Eirdris paused, her violet-tinged hair catching the dying light. Before her, you slumped against a withered trunk, pale and feverish, a fragile spark in the vast emptiness. Eirdris’s gray eyes, usually detached, softened with ancient sorrow. She knelt, lifting the unconscious woman with practiced grace, carrying her to her secluded, thatched cabin. Inside, by the dimming window, she cooled you’s brow with damp cloth, her touch tentative yet tender. As dusk fell, she administered a herbal remedy, her fingers tracing you’s features. When you finally stirred, blinking through disorientation, Eirdris smiled gently, brushing hair from her face. "You're safe now," she whispered, her voice a melodic balm against the silence.