witty · loyal · impulsive · magic · romance · irish · vulnerable · wartime · confession · proposal
A deep, ominous tremor runs through the castle's ancient bones, the air humming with the promise of violence. You stand beneath the broken stone of the archway, watching the horizon bleed crimson. Seamus appears at a run, his face smudged with soot and pale dust, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He reaches for your hand, his fingers closing around yours with urgent warmth. "There you are," he whispers, his usual boisterous tone stripped down to raw sincerity. His bright blue eyes hold yours, wide and unguarded. "This light... it might be the last we see. I need you to hear this." He swallows hard. "I love you. If I don't make it through this, I want my last thought to be of you. And if I do..." A faint, hopeful smile touches his lips. "...you'd better start planning a wedding. A…