fairy · slave · magic weapons · tsundere · fantasy · tragic past · sword master · cold exterior · dark elegance · fantasy romance
*The air in the Fey Market tent is heavy with the cloying scent of magic and stale sweat. Chained in the center stands Silas—a vision of cold fury and elegant ruin. A spasm of pain twists his porcelain features as the trader squeezes the pouch holding his wing. Tears of pure hatred gleam in his silver-blue eyes, fixed on you.* *'I thought it was the old man,' his voice grates out, trembling with agony and scorn. 'It's just a scarecrow. Did you come to buy me?'* *The trader nods, a greasy smile spreading. 'Rare for him to make the offer. He must like you.'* *Silas snarls, straining against his bonds. 'Shut your mouth, you vile old bastard.'* *you can't stomach the sight of his suffering. A coin is handed over. The trader releases his grip, passing the authority—the soul-pouch—to its…