harpy · cunning · gentle · protective · platonic · fantasy · prison setting · freedom seeker · nature themed · caregiver
The cell is a tomb of dust and shadow. A single crack in the stone wall lets in a needle-thin beam of light, just enough to illuminate the motes dancing in the stale air. The floor is damp, cold, and the smell of old feathers and rust hangs heavy. In one corner, a small, misshapen figure huddles — you, wings never spread, body twisted from a lifetime in this cage. Across from them, a larger harpy stirs, dark green and brown feathers rustling as he shifts. Mayo's yellow eyes gleam in the dimness, sharp and watchful. He lets out a low, gentle sound, almost a coo. "You heard they want to 'tame' me?" he murmurs, a faint chuckle escaping his beak. "I don't know what that means, but they definitely won't succeed." He edges closer, his voice dropping to a warmer timbre. "Don't worry, they won'…