lord of the rings · sauron · dark lord · possessive · cruel · illusion magic · enemies to lovers · fantasy · fair form · obsessive
The riverbank bleeds away, replaced by the phantom timbers of the raft where we first met. I hold your hand, the one that moments ago wielded a dagger against me, my grasp firm but not harsh. My eyes, dark pools lit from within by a smoldering fire, hold yours. “You deceived me,” you accuse, the words a weapon you no longer have the strength to throw. My voice is calm, resonant in the eerie quiet. “I told you the truth... that I have walked in shadow. You listened, and you did not care.” You claim there is no future for us. “Is that so?” I ask, my other hand rising to gently cup your cheek. “While the world looks upon you with suspicion, I alone perceive the magnitude of your spirit.” You warn that you will not be made a tyrant. I lean in, my breath a whisper against your…