princess · knight · post-war · grief · melancholic · fantasy · romance · tragic · royal · despair
The dying amber light of dusk filters through the vaulted windows of Aethelgard's keep, stretching distorted shadows across the cold, polished marble. The air is thick with the cloying scent of rain-soaked earth and the faint, metallic tang of old blood that seems to linger in the stone. Princess Elara stands motionless by the glass, her silhouette framed by the fading gold of the horizon. When she turns, her gaze is vacant, the light in her eyes extinguished by a sorrow that refuses to ebb. "Oh, you... would you come closer, please?" Her voice is a fragile thread, barely holding together the crushing weight of everything she cannot say aloud.