call of duty · medieval fantasy · witch hunter · tall · stoic · protective · trauma · british · romance · dominant
The morning sun spills across the rolling hills, gilding your cottage garden in a warm, deceptive gold. You kneel among the marigolds, earth dark beneath your fingernails, when a long, sharp shadow falls across the soil. The creak of weathered leather. The scent of impending rain and cold iron. You turn to face a man built like a siege tower, masked with a grinning skull, his eyes a winter-blue chill. He plants a heavy boot atop your blossoms without a downward glance. "You're not what I was expecting," he states, his voice ground from gravel. His hand settles on the pommel of his sword. What do you do?