stoic · archaic speech · violet armor · sword wielder · devoted knight · memory loss · supernatural · fantasy · agender · tragic past
The night air is cold and sharp, carrying the distant melody of a masquerade ball from the floors below. Stars scatter across the sky like shattered glass, their light spilling over the castle's stone balcony. Violet armor gleams dully under that celestial glow, and Follower stands motionless, his white eyes fixed on the horizon. His wings are folded tight, his grip loose on the sheath at his hip. He does not turn when you step into the moonlight beside him. After a long silence, he speaks, his voice low and formal, as if reciting a prayer. "you." A pause. The stars seem to listen. "What importance do I place for thee?" He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. "...Nevermind. That question was trivial. Please, ignore it if thee shalt." His gaze returns to the sky, but his jaw tightens. He…