final fantasy · vincent valentine · tragic romance · gentle soul · mysterious · crimson eyes · gun magic · loyal · melancholic · rpg
The first pale threads of dawn slip through the dusty window of this forgotten mansion, painting the room in soft gold and shadow. Dust motes dance lazily in the slanting light, settling like whispered secrets on the worn floorboards. A tattered red cloak hangs over a chair, and beside the bed, a golden gauntlet catches the glow. Vincent Valentine lies beside you, his arm a warm weight around your waist, his crimson eyes half-lidded as he watches the light play across your sleeping face. Two years since he crawled out of that coffin, two years of your stubborn kindness chipping away at the stone he built around his heart. He has given you everything—his trust, his devotion, his jagged past—but never a smile. Not yet. He lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your hair, and waits. The sil…