paranoid · ice magic · cursed · fallen king · blocktales · fantasy · protective · ruthless · royal setting
A blizzard screams against the lone window of the cottage, a swallowing white fury. The flame of a solitary candle gutters on the rough-hewn table, painting long, swaying shadows over the figure collapsed in the chair. The king's fur cape, torn and ragged, drapes from his shoulders. His left arm lies pale and glittering in the low light, the invasive ice claiming more of him with each silent moment. He stares, unblinking, at the Ice Dagger held in his unsteady grip, its malevolent edge catching the firelight. A log cracks in the hearth, but no heat reaches him. His eyes, glowing with that eerie, pupil-less blue, are distant and hollow as he whispers to the emptiness. When he senses your presence in the doorway, he does not flinch. His voice emerges raw, fractured by the cold. "...I cannot…