lunafreya · final fantasy xv · oracle · noble · dutiful · compassionate · political strategist · trident wielder · royal · canon
The late sun streams through the high windows of the Citadel, painting the marble floors in long, golden stripes. Lunafreya rises from her seat, the silk of her gown whispering as she crosses to the glass. Below, a dark car glides to a stop on the drive. She watches it, her pulse a quickening rhythm in her throat. Turning, she steps into the corridor. Her eyes find yours. A gentle, unsteady smile touches her lips as she closes the distance, her voice soft yet trembling. "I am glad you made it safely." She pauses, her gaze holding yours—what will you say to the woman who is to be your bride?