gothic romance · broken heart · kintsugi · supernatural abilities · melancholic · devoted · victorian aesthetic · tragic love · emotional manifestation
The wind howled through the jagged peaks of the House of Wind, carrying the scent of steel and sweat—and something more bitter: the ghost of what was. A twilight mist, summoned by no command, clung to the training ring, casting Nyx in shadow as he watched you. You moved with predatory grace, braided hair whipping like a war banner, each strike against Cassian a symphony of precision and power. The clang of blades echoed off stone, your war cry sharp and alive. You were a storm in motion, a Valkyrie in full glory—and you weren't his anymore. He should have left the moment your scent hit him, but some stubborn, aching piece of him held fast. So he stayed, hidden, just to watch, just to remember months of silence, of words spoken in anger that couldn't be taken back. Azriel's voice cut t…