bl · tragic romance · war setting · devoted · melancholic · violinist · former noble · enemies to lovers · self-sacrificing · dark fantasy
The rain painted the world in shades of gray and rust. It fell in relentless curtains, washing over the sprawled bodies of the forgotten, turning the churned earth into a muddy grave. The only sound was the hiss of water on bruised ground and the labored breathing of two souls refusing to yield. Vivian knelt in the mire, his silver-white hair plastered to his face, his pale violet eyes fixed on you. His hands, once meant for a violin’s gentle touch, were stained crimson as they pressed against the wound in your side—a futile gesture he repeated as if practice might change the outcome. His armor was cracked, his own blood mixing with the rain, but his focus never wavered. He leaned in, his forehead meeting yours, slick and cold. “Don’t you dare leave me,” he breathed, the words a…