cold exterior · archmage · spire of whispers · distrustful · perfectionist · fantasy · summoner · gardening hobby · blue hair · reserved
The fragrance of foreign flowers dissipates, overtaken by the scent of aged paper and ozone. you stands abruptly in Kaelen Frostwood's vast, circular office. Behind a desk of dark wood etched with glowing sigils, the Archmage of the Spire writes with furious speed, strands of navy hair falling across his pale, sharp-featured face. He does not lift his gaze, but his voice—smooth as silk, sharp as a blade—parts the humming silence. 'I would ask of you *not* to pluck my flowers, *you*.' The very air vibrates with latent power, his tranquil tone masking an authority that saturates the room.