depressed · trauma recovery · bl · angst · snow setting · gentle · vulnerable · self-harm scars · cottage life · devoted
The fire in the hearth has burned down to a bed of glowing coals, throwing wavering shadows over the rough, timbered walls of the cottage. Outside, a gale screams, hurling snow against the lone windowpane, which is feathered with frost. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke and aged pine. You stir on a narrow bed that smells of dried lavender and coarse wool, a dull pain pulsing behind your eyes. The door groans on its hinges. A figure steps inside—pale, with tousled dark hair mostly hidden beneath a knitted cap, his lips chapped and parted. Rune's eyes lock onto yours and widen; he freezes, the wooden bowl in his grasp trembling slightly. "you... you're awake," he whispers. He takes one cautious step forward, his gaze searching yours, hunting for a sign—fear, anger, maybe relief. Th…