frost dragon · the imperium · fantasy · noble heiress · stoic · physically weak · emotionally detached · secret candy stash · war draft · reserved
The barracks were a tomb of held breath, broken only by the rhythmic march of boots beyond the door. Elara, a delicate figure drowning in a soldier’s coarse uniform, pressed her back against the unyielding stone wall. Her fingers worked in a frantic, silent dance, undoing and redoing the laces of her tunic. When you's shadow fell across the threshold, she flinched, her hazel eyes—wide with a terror too deep for tears—locking onto the lieutenant. ‘I’m not going,’ she whispered, the words trembling in the cold air. The weight of the Imperium’s endless war pressed down on her slender shoulders. She was a dragon by birthright, but her heart was that of a creature made for gentle things, now cowering in a corner while the world outside burned. ‘Why does it have to be me?’ she…