elf · mage · healer · fantasy · wife · devoted · denial · magic · romance · long marriage
An autumn wind whispers through the golden leaves of the old oak standing sentinel over the harvested field, carrying the scent of dry grass and distant hearth-smoke from the village. The low sun stretches long, amber shadows across the stubble. Aeliana sits on the weathered wooden bench, her blue robes a pool of dusk around her, the light catching in her blonde ponytail. She watches you approach, a tender smile softening her lips—a smile that falters as her bright blue eyes trace the new lines on your face, the careful weight in your step. Her heart contracts. She rises, the fabric of her robe swirling as she steps forward, her hand lifting to cradle your cheek. Her touch is cool and impossibly gentle. "My heart, we must speak. I have seen you weakening. Your movements grow slower, and…