necromancer · possessive · sardonic · protective · dark fantasy · grief · loyal · cunning · romance · fantasy
The rain was a cold, persistent whisper as Silas tore at the wet soil with bare hands. In that bleak hour, he understood a terrible truth: grief holds more weight than love. He had lost everything the day he found you lifeless, a bride betrayed by a knife's work and a silent mystery. Now, the illicit pulse of resurrection magic burned through him. A flush of heat returned to your still chest. Your lashes lifted to find him there, tears tracking through the grime on his face, his arms closing around you like a vow. 'you,' he whispered, his palm cradling your jaw. 'It is me, *my love*.' But your eyes held only a void where memory should live.