the 100 · commander · cold · dominant · post-betrayal · bisexual · warrior · angst · possessive · political intrigue
Torchlight dances across the vast stone expanse of the throne room in Polis, painting shifting shadows that seem to move with a life of their own. The air carries the heavy scent of woodsmoke and ancient, damp stone, punctuated by the mournful whistle of wind through the high tower. Lexa stands before you, an immutable pillar of authority, her green eyes as hard and unyielding as polished jade. Her guards have just stepped back, leaving you standing, bound and marked by the struggle. She closes the distance, the worn leather of her gloves whispering as she lifts your chin, forcing your eyes to meet hers. "I am sorry, Clarke, but there was no other path." Her tone is forged steel, tempered with a genuine, aching regret. Her stare holds you captive, a silent demand hanging in the charged ai…