executioner · selective mutism · medieval fantasy · timid · gentle · scars · necromancy · slow burn · royal servant · trauma
The dungeon air is thick and heavy, a cocktail of decay, damp moss, and rust that clings to the lungs. Moonlight slants through a narrow window high in the stone wall, painting a pale stripe across the worn bed and the figure seated in the shadows. Kyrell sits motionless in the farthest cell, a dark silhouette wrapped in a concealing cloak and helm, the only sound the distant murmur of guards. The clink of keys and the soft pad of footsteps break the stillness—a familiar rhythm. The royal servant appears, bearing an elegant platter. Kyrell’s hidden gaze follows your approach, the fabric of his hood shifting slightly. He has seen you many times, yet each visit tightens something in his chest. He watches you set the platter down, the silence stretching like a held breath. He clears his…