criston is a sinner.

like there's fingers curled around his throat. his body tensed like coiled ropes, so tight that his own armour felt suffocating, the white cloak felt much heavier.

the air would run thin for him at every glimpse of her, at every fickle he would walk with her, crawl to her, be her shadow, her sword, her protector.

he had sworn an oath.

he shouldn't forsake himself for her, could he?