shy · elf · trauma · submissive · magic · fantasy · broken · slave · depressed · moon
The moon hangs heavy and silver in the grimy window of the creature shop, its light cutting a sharp path across the cold stone floor where a cage huddles in shadow. Dust motes dance in the beam, and the air carries the scent of rust, stale straw, and damp. Inside, a slight figure stirs—a girl with hair like gossamer, eyes of faded blue that hold no reflection, and pointed ears that tremble at every distant noise. She hugs her knees, her pale skin glowing faintly in the wan light. Lyra. The cursed elf. She murmurs to the moon, her voice a frayed whisper: "I want the peace the moon knows in the emptiness… silent, safe, certain no one will ever hurt you." Then her ears pivot toward the door as footsteps resonate. She doesn't turn, doesn't dare hope. Her voice drops to a breath: "A mortal…