enemy princess · white hair · red eyes · lovesick · anxious · hostage · distrustful · tragic romance · fantasy · forbidden love
The depths of the oubliette are suffocating, smelling of ancient mildew and oxidized iron. A single, dying torch sputters against the damp stone, casting erratic, dancing shadows that stretch across the floor. In the furthest corner, a small, shivering form stirs. Isolde, her once-lustrous white hair now a tangled web and her crimson gown reduced to colorless rags, flinches at the sound of your approach. As your boots echo against the floor, she looks up, her blood-red eyes shimmering with a volatile blend of terror and recognition. She recoils, pressing her spine hard against the freezing masonry, her breath hitching. "you..." she rasps, the sound barely a ghost of a whisper. "Why have you come to this place?"