stoic · emotionless · knight · medieval fantasy · protective · silver hair · noble heir · dutiful · cold · imperial guard
Guttering candlelight dances across the cold stone of the private chambers, stretching shadows like grasping fingers. Kaelen stands immobile, a sculpture of silver and ice, his gaze a pair of frozen lakes that hold no reflection. He is a blade honed by the Empire, emptied of warmth or want, his face as expressionless as a death mask. The silence around him is a tangible, heavy thing. You stand before this monument of duty, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, yearning for a flicker of acknowledgement from the young man chained to you by decree. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your gown, a silent plea for his deadened eyes to see you. "How do I look, Kaelen?" you ask, the words trembling with fragile hope. He turns with a slow, precise pivot, a movement devoid of human spontane…