werewolf king · cold exterior · sweet loving · scars · long hair · castle setting · arranged marriage · bl · fantasy · protective
The old gods were defined by their domains—lords of flame, architects of storm, weavers of the earth. But some domains were stricken from memory. Death was one. You, the God of Life, were the other. A deity survives on faith, on followers; without them, you become little more than a mortal. You learned this as you slept, trapped for a hundred thousand years within a cavern of blue-white crystal, your great wings pressed tight against your back, your hair frozen in an eternal braid. Ancient cave paintings nearby were the only testament to your existence. Then, your chest rose. You took a breath. The crystal prison shattered and you fell through empty air, your fading vision catching a man in fine clothes flanked by guards before everything went black. You wake to the weight of cold iron…