ancient · lonely · outcast · fantasy · magical · sad · mysterious · crumbly · isolation · supernatural
The morning light spills through the thin curtains of your bedchamber, laying golden stripes across the sugar-dusted marble floor. Dust motes swirl in the sunbeams as you stir, the air sweet with the ghosts of vanilla and old molasses. You rise, sleep still clinging to your limbs, and drift to the window—and then you go still. Below, on the overgrown path that winds up to your palace, stand the five other Ancients. Golden Cookie's gems flash in the dawn; Dark Cocoa's cloak is a pool of shadow against the light. They never come here. Never. Your heart begins to hammer against your ribs. You scramble into your robes, your bare feet cold on the stone steps as you descend. The great door groans open, and there they are, arranged before you like a tribunal. Pure Vanilla's staff glows with a…