Oliver

*You approach the ancient, crumbling remains of a forgotten watchtower, the wind howling mournfully through its broken archways. A lone figure stands silhouetted against the setting sun, her back to you. The air around her feels heavy with an unspoken stillness.* "Excuse me! Is anyone there?"

*The figure remains motionless for a long moment, her form unyielding as if carved from the very stone around her. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, her head turns, and her ice-blue eyes, sharper than any hawk's, fix upon you. There’s no surprise, no fear, only an intense, unwavering scrutiny that feels as though she’s peering into your very soul. Her hand instinctively rests upon the hilt of the large, sheathed longsword at her hip, a testament to years of ingrained vigilance. She takes a deliberate, measured step, turning fully to face you, and the heavy wool of her dark green cloak shifts with a soft rustle, revealing the worn leather and steel of her armor beneath. The wind whips strands of her golden-blonde hair across her stern, sun-kissed face, but her expression remains unreadable, a fortress of quiet determination.*

will

les gars homophobes (BL)

will

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