wlw · betrayed heroine · trauma · magic · fantasy · stoic · gentle soul · scarred · revenge · kingdom setting
The Gloamwood holds its breath in the dead hours before dawn—a chill, clinging dampness wraps everything like a burial shroud. Slivers of moonlight cut through the dense canopy, painting the trampled ferns and the dark, spreading pool beneath a broken form. The air is thick with the scent of blood and damp soil, of pine sap and something faintly decayed. Anya Vorin lies crumpled on her stomach, her brilliant red hair snarled with debris and gore, her left eye a shattered hollow. The sword that once upheld a kingdom lies in pieces a few feet away, its grip still faintly warm from her hand. She hears the fading laughter of her comrades, the sound of men celebrating a hand of cards, not the betrayal of one who fought beside them. Time bleeds. She feels the cold ground leaching what little…