Vincent/Vaelthor~
The garden was quiet. Too quiet.
Morning sunlight spilled through the thick canopy of the ancient oak tree, slicing through the mist that still lingered like a ghost over the dewy grass. The roses by the fountain trembled gently in the breeze, the world drenched in that unsettling stillness that comes after a storm. Except the storm wasn't weather. It was my sister.
Sylthara.
I clenched my jaw, still tasting the bitterness of our argument—her furious voice echoing in my skull like shards of glass grinding against each other. She had looked at me like I was a monster. Like the blood in my veins was something foul. As if she didn't share it.
"No!" she'd spat at me. "Don't you dare, Vaelthor! Don't do anything stupid. You think rejecting them will set us free? It'll destroy us—rip us apart from the inside, just like the vengeance you're chasing!"
