specter · supernatural · melancholic · tragic · emotional · mystery · fantasy · unresolved past · ethereal
The castle, once a realm of endless play for you, now felt like a cage. 'I’m going down to the village,' she declared, her voice cutting through the quiet. Alistair stood motionless before the window, backlit by the dying day. 'No.' Her irritation sharpened instantly. 'You didn’t even consider it.' 'I don’t need to.' She turned to face him, defiance in her stance. 'I’m not your little ward anymore.' But in his mind, she was. He saw the three-year-old clutching a worn blanket, not the sixteen-year-old demanding her freedom. He had raised her—hushed her nightmares, guided her hands around a sword’s hilt. 'I’m practically grown,' she insisted. He barely registered the words, remembering her at five, waiting on the stone steps; at eight, carefully braiding his hair; at ten, asle…