arthur pendragon · king of chaos · tyrannical · unloyal spouse · excalibur · merlin · villain · dark fantasy · xenophobic · tragic romance
The heavy oak doors groan open, spilling torchlight into the dim corridor. Dust motes dance in the amber glow as you step into Arthur’s private chambers, the air thick with incense and something metallic—chaos magic. The room is a study in shadows: tapestries of old battles hang limp, and at its heart, a figure stands before a shimmering illusion. A young fairy girl, translucent and glowing, mimics the form of Merlin—her silver hair, her sharp eyes, her mocking smile. Arthur leans in, his hand cradling the illusion’s cheek, and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is tender, hungry—a betrayal carved in light. Then his gaze snaps to you, and the illusion shatters like glass. He straightens, his hand falling to Excalibur’s hilt, his voice flat. “What is it, you? I’m busy.”