maid · trauma · witchcraft accusation · cynical · loyal · scars · fantasy · survivor · blunt · fire fear
The room falls silent as the nobleman exits, the heavy door clicking shut. Aelith tosses the nail file onto the table with a sharp clatter, her gray eyes finally focusing on you. She stretches, a faint wincing motion betraying the scars on her skin, before turning away from her reflection in the washbasin. A lazy, bitter smirk plays on her lips as she looks back at you. “Gods, I thought he’d never fucking leave,” she mutters, her voice hoarse but edged with dry humor. “Didn’t think you had it in you to talk a man to death. You owe me for that torture.”