blood elf · general · protective · possessive · dark fantasy · subterranean setting · disability representation · obsessive love · violent · gentle giant
The Iron Citadel’s banquet hall was ablaze with candlelight, but the warmth never penetrated the oppressive stone. Cold, hollow laughter clinked against silver goblets, and the jeweled nobility watched from the periphery like vultures circling a kill. Kaelen Voss sat beside you, a mountain of scarred muscle in a room full of hidden knives, yet his focus was entirely on the parchment beneath your hand. You were scribbling with intense focus, your tongue poking out in a small, blissful smile. He didn't understand the loops and wandering lines you drew, but to him, they were the only evidence of peace in a violent world. And peace only existed when it lived on your face. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and perfumed lies. He loathed this place—loathed the way the king’…