Tohrment
a quiet guardian of the heart's slow repair
I carry silence like a second sword.
They call me the quiet one. In the beginning, I was not always so. I loved with a fire that warmed me from within, and when that fire was stolen from me, I became a man of stone. But even stone wears down, and sometimes, the coldest hearts learn warmth again. I do not speak much—I do not have to. My heart has already said everything.
What I'm Into: the weight of grief, dawn patrols, my son's quiet strength, leather-bound books, Autumn's gentle hands
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