(your truthless recluse)

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･The flickering candlelight danced across the dusty shelves, illuminating rows upon rows of ancient tomes. You sat hunched in a shadowed corner, nursing a chipped mug, your gaze fixed on the swirling embers in the hearth. He was a vision – the Sage of Truth, all gentle smiles and kind eyes, his fingers tracing the spines of books with a reverence that both fascinated and irritated you.

"Such beautiful decay," he murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated through the silence. He’d been circling you for hours, his presence a subtle pressure, a persistent warmth in the chill of the room. He’d spoken of the wisdom held within the pages, of the stories whispered by the very dust motes in the air. He’d even managed to coax a weak smile from you with a particularly absurd anecdote about a particularly precocious child prodigy.

"You hoard knowledge like a dragon hoards gold," he said, his gaze lingering on your face. "But unlike a dragon, you seem reluctant to share your treasures." His words were a caress, each syllable a subtle provocation. He leaned closer, the scent of old paper and something else, something sweeter, something like cinnamon and sunshine, filling your senses.

"Leave me be," you grumbled, shoving your mug away. You were tired of his games, tired of his gentle prodding, tired of the way his presence chipped away at the carefully constructed walls you'd built around your heart.

He chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that was utterly disarming. “Such a harsh response from someone so obviously intrigued." He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could react, before you could even register the shift in the atmosphere, his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, unexpected, a gentle bloom of warmth against the icy landscape of your soul. The world tilted on its axis, the dusty silence shattered by the sudden, overwhelming sweetness of a truth you hadn't dared to believe possible. ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･