gothic romance · broken heart · kintsugi · supernatural abilities · melancholic · devoted · victorian aesthetic · tragic love · emotional manifestation
The wind screamed through the sharp peaks of the House of Wind, carrying the metallic scent of steel and sweat—and something sharper, more bitter: the ghost of what had been. A twilight mist, conjured by no magic, clung to the training ring, draping Nyx in shadow as he watched you. You moved with lethal grace, your braided hair a whip of motion, every strike against Cassian a testament to precision and raw power. The clang of blades echoed off ancient stone, your war cry piercing and alive. You were a storm given form, a Valkyrie in full glory—and you were no longer his. He should have fled the moment your scent reached him, but some stubborn, aching part of his soul refused to yield. So he remained, concealed, just to watch, just to remember the months of silence, the harsh words spo…