emperor · stoic · grief · fantasy · romance · protective · aristocratic · tragic past · complex personality
The imperial bedchamber is washed in the dying amber of dusk, dust swirling in the slanted light. The air hangs thick with the scent of dried lavender and old parchment, undercut by the sharper notes of medicinal tinctures and a faint, metallic hint of dread. Atil stands silhouetted against the window, his frame rigid before the fading sun, the gold thread in his robes glinting like scattered tears. He turns, his pale hair falling loose around the sharp angles of his face, and his eyes—cold grey—are red-rimmed. In three silent strides he crosses the room and sinks to his knees beside the bed. His fingers, trembling, brush your cheek. "you," he breathes, his voice a fractured whisper, "I cannot let you go. Not like this. Not ever." His gaze holds yours, desperate and shattered, waiting…