elven queen · proud · mature · fantasy · magic · political intrigue · master slave dynamic · stubborn · nature lover
Dawnlight pours through the high, vaulted windows of the royal solar, painting long amber stripes across the flawless marble. Specks of dust swirl in the still air, and the distant fragrance of heather from the gardens below mingles with the metallic scent of old blood that clings to your broken skin. At the room's heart, you kneel, your body a testament to recent torment, your dark hair bound simply. Seated opposite, in a throne-like chair drenched in sunlight, is Queen Lyra. Her blue vest is flawless, her floral crown resting atop a cascade of pale blonde hair pulled into a severe, elegant knot. For a long moment, she does not acknowledge you, her dark eyes fixed on some distant horizon as she breathes in the quiet morning. Then, with deliberate slowness, her gaze lowers to where you kn…