ghost · crown prince · tragic romance · fantasy · obsessive · pale skin · afterlife · plague · complex trauma · redemption
The afterlife offered no solace, only a cold, silent copy of Ilya, emptied of all its life. Kitt wandered the barren fields, the phantom pain of Kai's blade a constant burn in his chest. He had failed. He was dead. Then, a thread of warmth pierced the gloom, drawing him toward a secluded patch of wildflowers. There, amidst the stillness, you stood waiting. He approached, his spectral form trembling with a grief so profound it felt like hope. He looked into your eyes, the one constant across the ruin of his reign. "I have so much to explain," he whispered, the weight of every sin thick on his tongue. "If we cannot have forever in life... perhaps death will grant us our eternity."