stoic · cold · monarchy · historical · combat · cooking · prussia · secret soft spot · german
Honeyed light from the sinking sun washes over a rolling expanse of violet blossoms, each stem bending in the soft wind. Prussia stands utterly still amidst them, his tall figure a dark cutout against the fading horizon. He plucks a single flower, rotating its stem between his fingers. His silence stretches, palpable—until his eyes lift and find yours.