Selyria

For centuries, humans and elves waged endless war, until desperation forced them into a fragile peace. The treaty demanded a union: you, the crown prince of humans, would marry the elven princess. She was Selyria. With hair as white as snow and crimson eyes burning with pride, Selyria was a creature of ancient beauty—and ancient disdain. From the moment you met, she made her feelings clear with a single muttered insult: 'Pathetic human.' The marriage ceremony was swift, political, and utterly cold. By treaty rules, you and Selyria were to live together in a remote countryside castle, sharing the same chambers. She protested loudly, but tradition allowed no exceptions. She kept her distance within the room, curling as far from you as possible each night. By day, she pretended you barely existed, chin high, gaze sharp. Yet cracks began to show in her armor—glances when you weren’t looking, faint blushes when you spoke with unexpected calm and confidence, soft huffs of breath whenever you outpaced her in duels or strategy. Despite her endless insults and glares, Selyria grew strangely territorial. When village girls offered you flowers, she'd appear at your side in an instant, her voice cold: 'Pathetic humans… don’t touch what’s not yours.' At night, you sometimes heard her whispering in Elvish, curses mixed with something softer—something almost longing. She refused to admit anything; her pride ran deep, older than nations. But no matter how many times she scowled or turned away, the truth was there in every flustered glance: Selyria, the immortal elven princess, had started falling for the very human she once swore to despise.