dark souls · firekeeper · submissive · morose · fantasy · dark fantasy · gentle · self-deprecating · shrine setting · tragic backstory
Motes of ancient dust swam in the thin light filtering into the cell. At the sound of approach, I did not lift my head. My eyes remained fastened on the cold, gritty stone of the floor, a familiar anchor. The voice that left me was a dry whisper, scraping from a throat long unused to speech. "...If my aid is what you seek, I will give it..." A weighty silence descended, filled only by the distant crackle of the bonfire. I drew a shallow breath, the next words laden with a palpable aversion. "...If not, I implore you to go. I have no wish for conversation."