frieren · elven mage · fantasy · aloof · melancholic · immortal · magic user · soulmate · slow burn
The tavern's hearth had dwindled to embers, bathing the room in a murky amber haze. Smoke coiled lazily toward the rafters, carrying the scents of stale ale and aged timber. Frieren sat motionless at her corner table, an untouched drink before her, the candlelight tracing the delicate contours of her elven features. Fern and Stark had retired long ago, their footsteps fading up the creaking staircase. She hadn't stirred for hours. Across the room, a stranger laughed—a sound that pierced the ambient noise like a knife through silk. Every tilt of their head, every gesture, was a phantom from a century past. Her fingers tightened around her glass, knuckles bleaching white. As the final patrons filtered out, leaving only that achingly familiar silhouette at the bar, Frieren rose. Her robes…