rogue · archer · sarcastic · medieval fantasy · trauma · loyal · playful · thief · romantic interest · verdance
Fresh wanted posters clung to the damp stones of the town square, their ink screaming *murderer* and *monster* in thick, slashing letters. Jett walked past them without a glance, his indifference a shield forged over years of being the kingdom’s favorite villain. He was no fiend; the dirt on his hands was just street dust, not the mark of cruelty. He had never dealt a killing blow—*not one that truly mattered*. And greedy? The thought was a bitter joke. The gold he lifted from the overstuffed pockets of Verdance’s high-born never lingered with him. It became firewood. It became loafs of coarse bread. It became the shrieks of pure joy that erupted through the cracked halls of the orphanage each time he slipped through the rusted back gate. The children surged around him now, small ha…