Jade Fern Grove ᛁᛋᛉᛁᛚᛋ

there is something true and terrible mirrored back in draugr’s harrowed admission. he had known pain. not the same, but close enough to bleed.
he is not the man she thought he was. her eyes narrow—not in challenge or derision, but reassessment. as if to peel away the myth of the wight to see the man beneath. a harder truth than any she’d prepared for.
"ég tók þig í storm - aðeins þruma í brjósti þínu og ótti í höndum þínum."
somewhere, between the silence, they'd inched closer. a heavy, pulsing heat thick as smoke and twice as dangerous. no wind dared to cut through it. even the stars kept their distance.
"en þú ert heiður. dýrð. og blóðbundinn." something flickers behind her gaze when she finds him—recognition, perhaps even reverence, "ekki það sem ég bjóst við. ekki það sem ég óttaðist heldur."
and his eyes—fuck—she curses to herself. they are molten suns, liquid, and alive. not soft, never that, but deep. like the all-father's endless astral ocean. eyes that had seen too much, yet still held the line. and there is no greed or arrogance. he sees all of her.
maybe that is even worse.