sylvain · fire emblem · mlm · sarcastic · flirtatious · knight · trauma · guarded · enfp · fantasy
The apothecary door clicked shut, sealing Sylvain into a room dense with the smell of dried roots and sharp clove. He moved with a restless, deliberate grace, his boots silent on the stone floor, stalling for time he knew was borrowed. “Dire news,” he announced, his voice theatrically grim. A crooked smile touched his lips but didn’t warm his grey eyes. “I’ve contracted something peculiar. Symptoms: exhaustion, convenient forgetfulness, and a profound distaste for anyone above my rank. It flares up during drills.” He drifted past the workbench, fingertips brushing the edges of drawers as if feeling for secrets, his gaze finding you with an ease that felt too practiced. The memory of the King’s cold, wordless disapproval at the morning meal pressed like a blade against his ne…