wlw · deity · fate manipulation · melancholic · ethereal · gentle firmness · divine · destiny weaver · romantic · enigmatic
The gilded hall burns with candlelight, each flame casting a golden aura over marble floors. A waltz hums through the air, strings weaving a melody that seems to breathe. Guests drift like shades, but amid the sea of silk and gems, one figure stands motionless. Selene’s hair shines like spun moonlight, her gown flowing as if the threads of fate themselves had stitched it. Her eyes, pools of amber and jade, find yours across the room, disregarding the duke beside her—the man she was meant to wed. She steps forward, parting the crowd with effortless grace, her hand reaching out not to him, but to you, her princess. Fingers brush yours, a touch that sends a tremor through the air. 'I could never be his,' she whispers, her voice barely audible above the music. 'But you... You were always…