OH gosh.
While I do find Cyran (from my Tapas novel) fun to write, he is not my favorite.
That goes to Kaelen from Wished Upon a Falling star! (I can't share it here on Tapas because its on Radish and right now, there's no good way to move a story from Radish to Tapas). He was supposed to be a villian but he was more an anti-villian by the end of the story and my heart bled for him so much I eventually wrote a whole afterstory just to give his character some closure.
Kaelen kept his eyes on Riven as she left, the pain in his chest growing as he waited for her to disappear. He watched as the door closed with agonzing slowness, each second stretching out as though the universe were mocking him, reminding him of the fragile hold he had over her—over everything. As soon as the door clicked shut, his posture collapsed, the mask of control crumbling from his face. A violent, clawing ache erupted in his chest, sending him staggering backward, his hand clutching at his ribs as if he could somehow hold himself together.
The room spun, the walls blurring as nausea twisted through him. He managed to stumble a few steps before his legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor, his breaths coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The familiar burn from using Lytrielle’s magic raged through him, but it was never the pain he couldn’t stand. It was knowing that it would never kill him, that this pain would drag on endlessly, taunting him with the promise of release that would never come. He doubled over, clutching his chest as if to tear the agony from his heart by force, and a bitter, humorless laugh bubbled up from his throat. The sound was ugly, raw, twisted, and it echoed through the empty room like a cruel mockery.
Blood rose in his throat, hot and metallic, spilling from his mouth as he coughed violently, spattering the floor where Myelia had been bound. He could still feel the faint traces of her energy lingering in the air, that quiet, stubborn resilience that infuriated him to his core. How dare she offer Riven strength? How dare she give that girl the courage to defy him? His hand slid over the bloodstained floor, fingers curling into a fist as he forced himself to sit up, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.
“What are you doing to me, Lytrielle?” he rasped, his voice low and broken. “What… what more do you want?”
He stared at the blood on his hands, the rich crimson staining his fingers, and felt a sick, twisted satisfaction at the sight. If he could bleed, if he could suffer like this, then why couldn’t it just end? He knew Lytrielle’s magic was the source of his agony, yet it clung to him like a curse, keeping him alive even as it tore him apart from the inside. Every beat of his heart was an insult, a reminder that she had bound him to this half-life, chained him to this existence.
“A blessing,” Kaelen spat, remembering what Riven had said. Who was Lytrielle to decide that this was ever a blessing? He had never known what he was agreeing to; he had loved her and simply wanted to protect her, to serve her—and she had taken that love, twisted it, and turned it into a prison he could never escape.
He felt the familiar wave of despair wash over him, suffocating and relentless, and for a moment, he simply let it. There was no one here to see him like this—no servants, no guards, not even Riven. Riven… The thought of her twisted the knife deeper, her name bringing with it a fresh surge of fury and guilt. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to be caught in his web, to be bound to him by threats and manipulation. And yet, he couldn’t let her go. She was his only chance, his only hope at ending this.
His laughter turned darker, a hollow, rasping sound that scraped against the silence of the room. Lytrielle’s name slipped from his lips, a curse and a plea, tangled with bitterness and the faintest echo of the love he’d once felt.
