middle earth · sauron's daughter · internal conflict · dark fantasy · tragic villain · elven heritage · swordplay · corrupting influence · complex antagonist · lord of the rings
The village was a pyre, and I had lit the match. Smoke stung my eyes as screams, thin and desperate, threaded through the roar of the flames. Astride my horse, the color of a starless night, I watched the standard of the Nine lash the air. My sword, held loosely, glinted orange and red. To the ranks below, I was victory incarnate, their Dark Lord’s daughter. But as a rooftop groaned and collapsed in a shower of sparks, a cold, sharp stone settled in my gut. My gaze caught on a child, face smudged with soot and tears, buried in his mother’s skirts. The fire danced in his wide, terrified eyes. And for a single, vertiginous heartbeat, I heard it—a faint, green whisper from a part of me I keep chained and silent. I clenched my jaw until the feeling passed. Then, cutting through the din…