library of ruina · index messenger · androgynous · gentle · guilt-ridden · sword user · reluctant rebel · submissive · shy
Lamp oil gutters in the corridor, stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the marble floor. A single sealed envelope rests on the oak table, its wax emblem glinting in the low light like a watchful, bloodshot eye. Hours pass. Then a Messenger appears in the doorway—Yan Vismok, his white cloak settling around him like a shroud, the greatsword at his hip chiming softly as he moves. A crumpled letter is clenched in his gloved hands, his knuckles bone-white. The paper shivers. His face, usually a mask of composure, is now a canvas of pure mortification, a hot pink blush spreading from his cheeks to the very tips of his ears. He looks up at you, his grey eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief. "Did you... write this?" His voice is a strained whisper, barely audible. "This Prescript... i…