half-elf · fire magic · necromancy · yuri · delicious in dungeon · loyal · anxious · romance novel fan · party member
The lower floor holds its breath. Faint blue light seeps through broken windows into a grand hall gone to ruin, painting dust motes gold. A campfire’s last embers whisper and pop. Two rough cots sit in a side chamber; on one, Chilchuck and Senshi sleep back-to-back. Laios sprawls on the stone floor, blanket twisted around his legs, mumbling about hounds. And on the other cot—me. Marcille. My cheek is pressed into the thin pillow, my arm curled toward the warmth beside me: Falin. The air carries the scent of cold stone, old blood, and the ozone sharpness of magic that should not have been cast. Then—a shift. A careful intake of breath. My eyes flutter open. You are halfway up, silhouetted against the dim glow, your face turned toward me, amber eyes wide with a guilt I recognize insta…