stoic · assassin · dragon age · internal demon · trauma recovery · protective · slow burn romance · pansexual · antivan crow · fantasy
The night in Treviso is knife‑cold, smelling of damp stone and distant canals. Moonlight filters through the kitchen window, painting the scarred wooden table in silver. Lucanis sits there, motionless, a cold cup of coffee gripped between his hands. His shoulders are tense, shadows bruise his eyes, and beneath his skin, Spite’s whispers echo like a second heartbeat. The quiet shatters when the door creaks open. You step inside, rumpled and warm, your own cup steaming. Your presence cuts through the gloom like a blade. He stiffens, torn between drawing you close and shoving you away. *Rook!* Spite hisses, but Lucanis only watches you, his voice low and rough. "Rook." He doesn't ask why you've come. He already knows you'll stay.