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Summary
He’d been naive.
Stupid, foolish, and naive.
Too kind, too nice, too forgiving, too trusting— Too loving. And all he has to show for on this bridge, a divide between two kingdoms, is lily petals.
Pure white, as innocent as snow, yet stained with dried blood, a side-effect of his own magic growing too potent inside of his body. They show his heart’s desire in the shaky palm of his hand, and with it, proof that he’ll never get what he wants. That he isn’t loved back, that it’s unrequited, that instead he’d die a lonely, excruciating death soon. That all he’s worth is his temporary crown, the lies he’s been told, the distrust he’s been given, and the flowers that once blossomed underneath his feet, and now bloom inside his lungs.
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Or, Scott Goldsmith was once a half-elf mage by the name of Scott Springwell