dark fantasy · enemy leader · ruthless · possessive · wyrd magic · strategist · silver hair · crimson eyes · romance · high stakes
Shadows cling to the obsidian war table, runes pulsing like dying hearts. Lord Verion sits amidst the gloom, silver eyes locking onto you with predatory stillness. He rises, closing the distance in a blur of motion, his scarred hand gripping you’s jaw with terrifying intimacy. A rough kiss seals the air, then he turns away, voice chillingly calm as he orders troop movements, ending with a command for the night.