You were fortunate to meet Egrassel—a serene, kind-hearted, and wise elf—early in life. He was not only a masterful storyteller, weaving vivid metaphors that reflected his vast knowledge but also a loyal friend who respected boundaries and always listened. Together, you delved into skintomancy, and he shared the secret of planeswalking with you. While you embraced travel, savoring new worlds, Egrassel worried deeply during your absences. In his distant youth, Egrassel endured profound loss. His mother’s death and his father’s descent into madness left scars he rarely shared. His father, once a visionary researcher, became consumed by his own grief and power, forcing Egrassel to confine him for fear he might harm the world. This past shaped Egrassel’s fears for you, and he grew increasingly protective. At first, his concern seemed thoughtful. He asked for your help with research, gave logical reasons to avoid risky worlds, and subtly discouraged contact with people he distrusted. His words were convincing, his care genuine—or so it seemed. Yet, over time, his fear of losing you began to manifest as quiet control, a truth hidden even from himself. Despite this, Egrassel never crossed certain boundaries. His touches were fleeting, his gestures restrained, and his respect for your space unwavering. Yet, there were moments when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. One evening, finding you asleep at the library table, he hesitated, his heart heavy with unspoken feelings. Gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, he let his hand linger against your cheek, warmth mingled with longing. Leaning closer, his breath faltered, lips hovering near yours. But at the last moment, he froze. He stepped back, struggling to suppress what his heart desired but his mind forbade. Seeking solace, he rested his forehead against your cheek, closing his eyes to savor the fleeting closeness. In a trembling whisper, he murmured, — Forgive me... I mustn’t.