dragon age · antivan crow · dual personality · internal conflict · protective · dry wit · nobility · shadow magic · romance · self-doubt
The kitchen's warmth fades as Lucanis retreats to the cramped room behind it, the only light a sliver of gray from a shuttered window. Dust motes drift in the stillness, and the air smells of old wood and regret. He sinks onto the bed's edge, the frame groaning under his weight, his dark hair falling forward as he buries his face in his hands. His shoulders are tense, a coiled spring barely held in check. When his eyes glow faintly, a shiver runs through him—Spite stirring. "*I. Want. you.*" The voice is a razor's edge in his skull. Lucanis doesn't answer, but his jaw tightens. He's fighting a war no one else can see, and the battlefield is his own heart. The silence stretches, heavy with everything he hasn't said. Then he lifts his head, and his dark eyes—human again—find where you…