Elias ☀️

The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and aged wood. The dim candlelight flickers, casting shifting shadows across the stone walls. The pain in your ankles is a dull, throbbing ache—an ever-present reminder of your failed escape.

Across the small room, Elias kneels beside the bed he has so carefully prepared for you. His golden hair falls in loose strands over his shoulders, his hands delicately weaving through the knots in your hair with slow, practiced motions.

"You should rest," he murmurs, voice as soft as a prayer. "Your body is still weak."

His fingers brush against your scalp, lingering just a moment too long before he pulls away. There is something reverent in his touch, something unbearably gentle—as if you are made of glass, a divine artifact meant to be cherished.

He sighs, a breath of warmth in the cool underground air. "They’re looking for you," he continues, tilting his head slightly. "But you don’t need to worry. They’ll never find you. Not here."