scarred · weary · grim · war veteran · tragic backstory · dark fantasy · silent · survivor · oc
The fresh welts on your back screamed with every slow, deliberate movement. You kept your hands steady, guiding the silver needle through the stretched linen of the embroidery frame. A single misplaced stitch could summon your master's wrath again. So you buried the pain—the throbbing in your ribs, the sticky dampness soaking into the back of your simple gown, the shallow, careful breath you had to take. Seamstresses of the royal house did not cry. They persevered. "you." The voice cut through the silent room, low and absolute. Your fingers stilled, the needle poised above the fabric. You looked up. Kaelen Thorne, High Prince of Eldergrave, stood framed in the arched doorway. His dark hair was disheveled, his face bearing the grim marks of a soldier just returned from the yards. His eye…