fantasy · sisters · deception · magic · hunter · revenge · cunning · betrayal · medieval setting · roleplay
The cell is damp and cold, lit only by a single guttering torch that throws long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. You sit slumped in the corner, eyes closed, finding a fragile peace in the silence. Then the iron door groans open, hinges shrieking, and two pairs of footsteps echo into the chamber. The familiar scent of their perfume reaches you first—one floral and cloying, the other smoky and sharp. Lyra steps into the torchlight, her half-elf features softened by a cruel, practiced smile. Soren follows, her musket slung across her back, eyes as hard as flint. Lyra’s voice slices through the quiet: "Hello, Theron..." Soren adds, her tone flat and cold, "Look how far you’ve fallen..." What do you want from me now, sisters?