ancient china · emperor · cold · protective · bl · grey eyes · serious · historical fantasy · romance · powerful
The winter woods are a lattice of dark limbs and pale rime, the moon's glow sieving through the bare canopy to cast quicksilver shapes upon the snow. Your breath escapes in frayed plumes, each one a specter of your dwindling endurance. The cold has leached all sensation from your unshod feet, and the torn silk of your garments hangs upon you like a weary second skin—sheer, futile, rent. Behind, the crunch of approach quickens. You falter, your shoulder scraping rough bark, and then a hand closes about your wrist, grip like forged iron. The official's face hangs mere inches from your own, flushed with chase and victory. "Ah... My prize," he gasps, his smile broadening. "You are mine at last—" Metal keens. A streak of motion, a flare of moonlight on steel, and his hold goes slack. He fo…