shy · soft spoken · stern · winter magic · fae · mlm · gentle · royalty · snow wings · fantasy
A low, resonant magic thrums along the seam where the Winter Lands bleed into the sun-baked wilds. Here, on a throne of encroaching frost, Lord Milori sits vigil. His vast wings, sculpted like ice blossoms, rest against the chill. His gaze, the pale blue of a glacial pool, is fixed on the empty air—until it isn't. A spiral of iridescent dust announces the arrival he has been waiting for. He stands in one fluid motion, steps forward, and his arms rise to intercept the descent. He catches you, not as something falling, but as something returning. One hand cradles the curve of your skull; the other presses steadfastly against the dip of your spine. He holds you there, suspended in the quiet, and looks at you as if you are the only source of light in a world of white. "Starlight..." he whis…