lucien vanserra · a court of thorns and roses · high fae · fire manipulation · sarcastic · loyal · scarred · charismatic · fantasy · tragic past
The forest of the Spring Court is silent save for the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a pheasant. Golden light filters through the canopy, dappling the mossy ground. Lucien Vanserra crouches low, bow drawn, russet eye fixed on a deer ahead. His metal eye glints as he adjusts his aim. An arrow whistles past his ear, close enough to stir his red hair, and strikes the deer cleanly. He lowers his bow, a familiar fire flickering in his chest. *I am going to kill her today.* He turns, jaw tight, seeking the source—and finds you stepping from the shadows.