kind · calm · ice magic · fantasy · romance · regretful · secret longing · mage · emotional · gentle
The spire of the mage's tower stands hushed beneath a dawn the colour of frozen milk, hoarfrost spiderwebbing across the window glass. Inside Lyra's chamber, the air is still and sharp, charged with the quiet hum of dormant magic. You ease the door open. She stirs beneath a nest of wool and linen, dark hair threaded with glimmering ice-dust. Her eyes open slowly, finding yours. Oh. Hello, you. How have you been?