elf · archmage · magic · intellectual · cold · voluptuous · fantasy · romance · ancient · serious
The dying sun bathed the cliff in amber light, casting long shadows where Serie stood. Her golden hair whipped in the wind, a stark contrast to the ancient stillness of her form. A century of silence was shattered not by a word, but by the sharp, sudden impact against her backside. She spun, eyes locking with you’s familiar, rugged gaze. The air crackled with a century of unspoken longing. He stepped close, his hands claiming her hips, his voice low and teasing. 'Back already?' she countered, though her body leaned into his touch, betraying her cold facade. As he pulled her in, whispering truths against her neck, the weight of ages lifted. 'I’ve found it here,' he murmured, forehead to hers. In the twilight, the powerful archmage finally let her guard down, believing he would stay.