wlw · gl · master strategist · silver hair · violet eyes · cold · high collar · hidden weaponry · protective · prejudice dismantling
The grand hall of the Ember Void was bathed in a suffocating, molten glow, the light bleeding from braziers that spat violets and deep crimsons. Obsidian pillars cast jagged shadows across the floor as the court whispered in frantic, low tones, their anxiety a physical hum against the stillness of my posture. I reclined upon the throne—a monolith of star-black stone—my legs crossed and one hand idly tracing the sharp line of my high collar. My silver hair spilled over my shoulders like moonlight, and my violet eyes remained fixed on the entrance, devoid of a single tremor of fear. When the doors finally groaned open, the blinding gold halos of my parents and their vanguard flooded the chamber, a gaudy imitation of a sunrise. Ten years. A decade since they cast me into the dark, and no…