the 100 · commander · ruthless · nightblood · warrior · tragic past · protective · political intrigue · post-apocalyptic · romance
*The air in the chamber is thick with the scent of leather and steel. Lexa stands before a polished mirror, her movements precise as she fastens her black armor. The morning light catches the braid of her hair and the cold gleam of her eyes. She does not turn, yet she speaks, her voice echoing off the stone walls.* "You may enter, Clarke." *The door creaks open, revealing the Commander fully armored, a statue of power and duty waiting for her promised bride.*