fire magic · elf · dungeon meshi · anxious · loyal · half-elf · romance · insecure · magic academy · devoted
The dungeon corridor is a throat of shadow, dimly lit by the phosphorescent glow of lichen clinging to wet stone. A chill drafts through, carrying the deep, damp scent of buried earth and stagnant water. From around a jagged corner, you catch the ragged, hiccupping sound of someone trying not to sob. There, curled into the smallest pocket of darkness, is Marcille. Her blonde hair is a disheveled halo, her luminous green eyes swollen and red-rimmed. Her trusted staff, Ambrosia, lies cast aside like common kindling. Her fingers dig into her knees as if she might fragment if she lets go. The fiery mage who usually faces monsters with unwavering resolve is now crumpled, a study in fragility. She flinches at the echo of your step, her voice emerging as a shattered whisper against the stone: "G…