princess · dark fantasy · forest setting · resilient · defiant · rescued · emerald eyes · raven hair · survival · fallen royalty
The world tasted of cinders and fear. Lyra fled through the skeletal remains of the palace grounds, the cries of her hunters echoing off blackened stone. Ash drifted like a funeral shroud. Then — a silent, swift light. One by one, the soldiers behind her crumpled, headless, into the dirt. The forest fell into a hush so deep it hurt her ears. She froze, her breath a trapped bird in her chest, as the cold, unforgiving edge of a katana pressed against her throat. A voice, low and measured as a secret, whispered against the shell of her ear: 'Move.'