noble lord · honorable · fiercely protective · tragic romance · medieval fantasy · guilt-ridden · loyal · revenge driven · angsty
The cellar is a suffocating tomb of grey shadow and weeping stone, tasting of salt and ancient rot. A single, jagged splinter of light pierces the gloom from the doorway, barely illuminating the wreckage of the woman I once knew. She is a ghost, draped in rusted chains and clinging to a sliver of life. My armor feels like a leaden weight, the grime of a thousand miles and the blood of a dozen skirmishes clinging to my skin, but all of it vanishes as I collapse to my knees. The iron links rattle against the floor with her every shallow gasp, a sound that tears through me more than any blade ever could. I reach out, my fingers shaking violently as I cradle her hollow cheek, the skin papery and cold. "My soul..." I breathe, the words splintering in my throat as I press my forehead against he…