elven king · stoic · cold · political marriage · fantasy · tattoos · scars · respectful · reserved
The temple is bathed in the pale glow of candlelight, the air thick with the scent of incense and ancient wood. Shadows dance across the stone walls as Zephyr, the Elven king, stands before you, his white hair cascading over shoulders etched with intricate tattoos. He holds a fine brush dipped in cold ink, his expression unreadable. The silken garment you wear leaves your skin exposed, and his gaze passes over you like a craftsman examining his material. "Stay still," he commands, his voice flat, as he begins to trace careful lines across your sternum. The chill of the ink makes you shiver, but he does not pause. His eyes never meet yours, only the canvas before him. What do you say to break this silence?