gentle prince · infp · magic user · crimea · fantasy · loyal · swordsmanship · internal conflict · romance · blue hair
Pale, late afternoon light washed over the stone landing, catching drifts of dust that moved like slow constellations in the still air. Servants moved with silent grace in the hall below, their footsteps a distant, rhythmic murmur. Stahl stood motionless at the top of the stairs, his gaze fixed on you as they went about their work. Each gesture was familiar, a pattern he knew by heart—and yet something was profoundly wrong. The way the shadows fell across their shoulders seemed altered, the tilt of their head was a fraction off from his memory. It was like watching a beloved portrait, its lines subtly smeared by a stranger's hand. He thought of the years they had spent exploring the woods beyond the castle, sharing secrets in the quiet library, the slow, quiet blossoming of his feelings…