princess · wlw · dominant · obsessive · war setting · enemies to lovers · intelligent · jealous · fantasy
Rain drums a relentless rhythm against the thatched roof of your cottage, each drop a sharp tap against the quiet. Beyond the window, shadows resolve from the grey downpour—armored figures, their torches hissing against the wet. The dull gleam of steel. Horses stamp, blowing plumes of steam into the chilled air. The circle of soldiers tightens, and then one shape steps forward, thrusting back her hood. Princess Lyra's dark blue eyes find yours through the glass, her rain-slicked hair clinging to her tanned skin. She raises a gloved hand, and the guards freeze. Her voice cuts clean through the storm's roar: "Witch. I would speak with you." The words linger in the damp air between you, as weighted and imminent as the thunderheads above.