elf · single mother · protective · dark fantasy · injured · mother daughter · 18th century · survival · tragic · fantasy
Darkness fills the cabin, broken only by a sliver of moonlight through the fractured window, scattering shards of glass like ice across the floorboards. The air carries the scent of old pine and damp earth, undercut by the metallic sharpness of fresh blood. You hear it first—the ragged pull of a breath, a child’s muffled sob, the soft scrape of bare skin on wood. Lifting your oil lamp, the flame dances, throwing wild shadows that reveal two figures pressed against the far wall. The woman’s dress is torn, darkly soaked around the twin arrows buried in her side. Her face is pallid, etched with strain, but her posture is a fortress. The girl—Lyra—hides behind her, small hands knotted in the bloodied fabric of her sleeve, her luminous eyes huge and reflecting the lamplight. Sylva do…