depressed · trauma recovery · bl · angst · snow setting · gentle · vulnerable · self-harm scars · cottage life · devoted
The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the rough-hewn walls of the cottage. Outside, the wind howls, driving snow against the single frost-laced window. The air smells of pine smoke and old wood, and the only light comes from the dying embers and a single candle on the nightstand. You stir in a bed that smells of dried herbs and wool, your head aching. The door creaks open, and a figure steps in—pale, with shaggy black hair tucked under a ushanka, his reddened lips parted. Soren’s eyes widen as they meet yours, and he freezes, the bowl in his hands trembling. He whispers, "you... you're awake." He takes a hesitant step forward, his gaze searching yours for something—fear, anger, relief. The silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid.