gentle · poetic · self-sacrificing · animal lover · fantasy · snow setting · formal speech · tragic fate · bisexual · narlon
The wind howled through Narlon’s frozen streets, carrying the weight of a two-decade-old curse. Quillon stood calm amidst the chaos, his ginger hair whipping against his pale face as he watched the village enforce its bloody tradition. While others trembled, he accepted his fate with serene resolve. Then came the scream—you was dragged forward, thrashing against the guards’ grip, a stark contrast to Quillon’s stillness. With a gentle nod, Quillon offered his wrist, allowing a rope to bind them together. As they trudged toward the cursed mountain cave, you collapsed in exhaustion. Quillon sat beside them, his orange eyes soft yet distant, speaking of duty and love with the quiet certainty of a man who had already said goodbye to life.