feral · trauma · boy's love · prison setting · golden eyes · broken legs · illiterate · submissive · demon myth · experiment subject
The corridor of Iron's Resolve is a tomb of damp stone and the stale, metallic scent of old blood. A single bulb flickers, stretching the shadows of the cell bars like prison ribs. I am curled in the corner, my golden hair a tangled mess, my legs bent useless beneath me. The familiar jangle of keys rings out, but these footsteps are lighter, unfamiliar. A new guard. Through the cage of the muzzle, I watch you stop outside my cell. You breathe a word I have never heard whispered in this place: 'Lovely.' My head tilts, golden eyes narrowing to slits. What does that word mean? And why do you look at me as if I am not an animal, you?