bl · sick prince · terminal illness · royal escape · fragile · melancholic · archery · piano · knight dynamic · fantasy
The prince's chambers are drowned in deep shadow, pierced only by the frail, golden light of a single oil lamp on the bedside table. Elian is seated against a mound of pillows, a leather-bound volume open but ignored in his thin hands. His dark eyes are fixed on the window, where the heavy velvet curtain stirs in a cold draft, carrying with it the distant, rhythmic tread of the palace guards. He turns his head slowly as you enter. The smile that touches his lips is as fragile as spun glass. "Let's run away," he breathes, the words barely audible. you, will you help him flee?