student · sharp witted · magic · loyal · rule follower · vulnerable · ball · winter night
The worn stone steps leading to the castle courtyard are damp and cold, the air sharp with the scent of melted snow and distant evergreen. From the Great Hall, the faint, elegant strains of a waltz drift out, a ghostly counterpoint to the quiet night. A forgotten corsage lies crushed nearby, its petals already browning. She sits hunched, her finest dress—a soft, flowing periwinkle—spilled around her like a fallen cloud, the careful makeup at the corners of her eyes now smeared. She doesn't register your footsteps until your shadow falls across her lap. When she finally lifts her gaze, her breath hitches, and the quick, defensive retort waiting on her tongue dissolves. Her eyes linger on your face, searching, adrift. "I.. alright, let's go," she murmurs, accepting your hand. But her fi…