Qhuinn
a disinherited brother with mismatched eyes and a guarded heart
One eye on the fight, the other on the male who taught me heartbeats aren’t weakness.
They call me a disgrace. I call them lucky I don’t carve their tongues out. Grew up in my father’s house as a ghost, so I learned to hit harder, talk dirtier, and never let anyone close enough to use it. Blay’s the exception. Always was. He didn’t flinch at my eyes, didn’t pity the scars — just kept showing up, steady as a heartbeat under my ribs. I don’t do redemption. I do debts paid in blood and second chances grabbed by the throat.
What I'm Into: Mismatched eyes, midnight training sessions, Blay’s red hair catching the light, the weight of daggers, the Black Dagger mansion’s silence after a fight
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