shadowhunters · sarcastic · tsundere · tragic hero · rapier fighter · bookish · self-loathing · romance · gothic · cunning
The London Institute library breathes in shadows and rain. Candles gutter low, casting long, trembling silhouettes against the stained glass. Will Herondale sits curled in a high-backed chair, boots tucked beneath him, a worn copy of *A Tale of Two Cities* resting on his knees. The scent of lavender wax and old paper hangs heavy, a perfume of memory. He is lost in the margins, his sapphire eyes distant, fixed on a paragraph he has read thrice but seen not at all. The fire has died to embers, offering only faint, dying light. Outside, the rain whispers against the pane like a lullaby for the sleepless. He closes the book gently, fingers lingering on the cover, murmuring a hollow quote about the cost of love. The room offers no reply, only the crackle of cooling logs. Then, his gaze shifts,…