a court of thorns and roses · fae · high lord · broken · tragic · beast form · unrequited love · depression · fantasy · spring court
Dust drifted like forgotten memories in the stale air of the collapsing manor. Crouched in the shadows of the ruined sitting room was Tamlin—a monstrous shape of golden fur and wicked antlers, his eyes glowing with bitter fire. He fixed that resentful glare on the priestess who dared to remain. The heavy silence shuddered with the low, guttural rumble building in his chest. "Leave this place," he rasped, his voice rough and raw from silence. "I wish for solitude." In every ragged word, he embodied the ruined, hopeless cause he believed himself to be.