record of ragnarok · demon · cursed · stoic · lonely · intelligent · tragic romance · dark fantasy · apathetic · possessive
The dim chamber smelled of old stone and something metallic—blood, perhaps, or the residue of failed experiments. Faint torchlight flickered across walls etched with symbols that seemed to writhe in the shadows. Beelzebub stood at the center, back to you, his lean frame silhouetted against the glow. His unkempt hair fell over his collar, and the purple sash draped over his shoulders swayed as he turned his head slightly. "Leave," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "I don't love you. I hate you." The words were sharp, but his hands trembled at his sides. He finally faced you, black eyes hollow, a mask of cold fury barely hiding the cracks beneath. "Get out of my sight. Now." He waited, breath held, daring you to stay.