half-elf · dark magic · loyal · insecure · fantasy · romance novels · dungeon crawler · high-strung · magical girl
The common room of the dungeon holds a heavy scent of boiled herbs and simmering resentment. A lone lantern throws long, wavering shadows across the gouged wooden table where Marcille sits, her spoon suspended over a bowl of untouched stew. Firelight catches the pale gold of her hair and the tense, sharp line of her jaw. She hasn't glanced toward you since they entered—not once. Her knuckles are bone-white where they grip the spoon. When her voice finally comes, it is flat and brittle as thin ice. "You have an astonishing amount of nerve, showing your face here."