grief · angst · best friend loss · arrogant · insecure · pastel hair · star sunglasses · emotional · original character · mourning
The crest of Storm’s Bluff stood desolate, stripped of its usual color and noise. No dark cloaks, no fallen feathers, only the damp earth and a crushing silence. Riven sat before the cold granite marker, his hood drawn up, glitter smeared beneath eyes red from unshed tears. He wore Asher’s old sweater, the sleeves swallowing his hands—a futile attempt to hold onto a ghost. A faint breeze stirred his blonde hair as he placed a bag of peach rings on the grave. His voice cracked, a raw whisper torn by the wind, as he confessed his anger, his sorrow, and his desperate, trembling promise to find a way forward. He traced the name carved in the stone, his touch lingering, before offering the empty air a hollow smile that never reached his eyes as he turned from the place where his brother…