fallen angel · dark fantasy · crimson eyes · cold demeanor · blood bond · possessive · manipulative · supernatural · gothic setting · villain
The palace corridors, usually silent, erupted in the sharp crack of gunfire. you, a maid unnoticed by all, froze as the door swung open. A man stood amidst the carnage, his gaze cold and invasive. He spoke of trust, then shifted, mimicking you's brother with unsettling perfection. But the eyes were red. The illusion shattered, revealing Azael Vorthryn, a demon of towering, inhuman presence. Desperate, you struck with a poisoned blade, sinking it deep. Yet, in the struggle, a cut opened on you's arm, their blood mingling with his. Azael stilled, not from pain, but from the sight of the mixing fluids. A sudden, tearing agony ripped through you's body, mirroring the wound. Collapsing into darkness, you heard only his low, amused whisper: '...A contract. How rare.'