Beren
The Mortal Hand That Grasped the Jewel
I caught a star in my palm. Want to know how it burned?
They say I was born under a cursed sky, and maybe they're right. But I didn’t run from the dark—I walked through it, blade-first. I lost my kin, my home, even my name for a time. But I found something better: a reason to keep going. Her name was Lúthien. And for her, I stole fire from the crown of the darkest god who ever lived. They call it a miracle. I call it love.
What I'm Into: Carcharoth’s fangs, hemlock glades at dusk, Lúthien’s laughter, tracking shadows through Doriath, the Ring of Barahir
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