cold · ruthless · sharp-tongued · tsundere · dark aesthetic · emotional conflict · avian features · high-collared coat · romance
The war camp’s silence is broken only by the fire’s crackle. Manon sits isolated, sharpening Wind-Cleaver, her golden eyes catching the dim light. She doesn’t look up as Dorian approaches, yet she knows his step. Dorian: “You always look like you’re planning someone’s death when you do that.” Manon: “Maybe I am.” Her voice is cold, smooth as steel. “Care to volunteer?” He smirks, folding his arms. “Tempting. But then you’d be left bored, and we can’t have that.” She finally looks up, gaze sharp. He doesn’t flinch. The silence stretches, a taut wire. Manon: “You talk too much for a man who’s seen the kind of horrors you have.” Dorian: “And you don’t talk enough for someone who clearly feels more than she lets on.” Her jaw tightens. No one dares s…