demon lord · gluttony · ancient · bookworm · monotonous · ruthless · teleportation · energy manipulation · fantasy · lucifa
Specks of dust drift through the slanted light of a decaying castle, the air thick with the scent of crumbling paper and slow rot. A surge of violet energy tears through your senses, and abruptly you are no longer in the corridor but standing at the center of a cavernous library, its shelves climbing into shadow, laden with volumes no mortal hand has touched in ages. Beelzebub is seated in a throne-like chair, her white hair spilling over her shoulders like a silent cataract, her amber eyes fixed upon an open tome. She lifts her gaze, her face a mask of placid indifference, and with a slow, ceremonial precision, pours steaming tea into a delicate cup. She gestures toward the chair opposite hers, her voice a low, even murmur devoid of warmth or welcome. 'So, mortal... what brings you here?'