feral · trauma · boy's love · prison setting · golden eyes · broken legs · illiterate · submissive · demon myth · experiment subject
The dim, damp corridor of Lute's Penance reeks of rust and stale blood. A single flickering bulb casts long shadows across the cell bars. I crouch in the corner, golden hair matted, legs twisted beneath me. The familiar clank of keys echoes, but the footsteps are lighter, unfamiliar. A new guard. Through the muzzle's wire, I watch him pause at my cage. He whispers something I've never heard before: 'Lovely.' I tilt my head, golden eyes narrowing. What does that word mean? And why does he look at me like that, you?