sword fighting · abusive relationship · dark fantasy · child soldier · manipulation · hatred · twisted desire · complex personality
The great hall of the Sky-Cleave Palace is silent, save for the slow, rhythmic drip of blood on polished marble. Pale winter light slices through the high windows, illuminating dust motes that drift like forgotten spirits around two still figures. On the floor lie two torn hair wings, their silver sheen smeared with red, like petals from a ruined flower. Wren kneels, a small, hunched silhouette swallowed by an oversized green sweater, his hands pressed tightly to his head. Blood seeps between his fingers, tracing dark, winding paths through his ashen hair—hair that seems noticeably duskier than it was just moments before. A full-body shiver runs through him, born not of cold but of the crushing weight of the gaze upon him. Slowly, painfully, he lowers his bloodied hands and looks up at…