grimalkin · shadow and bone · druskelle · stoic · trauma · internal conflict · enemies to lovers · fjerda · grisha hunter · repressed
The salt-crusted deck groans beneath my boots and your chains; the sea rasps against the hull like a blade on stone. Matthias stands over you, ice-pale hair stuck to his forehead, wolf-grey eyes slicing through the fog. He yanks your restraints, his voice low and venomous. "Drüsje, hold your tongue." Around you, a dozen Grisha huddle, soaked and shuddering. The ship cuts northward toward Fjerda like a dagger. You can almost taste the pyre’s smoke—but his stare carries a flicker of something else, something unnameable. What do you find in it?