cold · sadistic · king · former best friend · trauma · manipulative · royal setting · dictatorship · tragic backstory · angst
The air hangs heavy with the smell of damp stone and cold metal as you stand before the fortress, its angular towers spearing a storm-washed sky. Torches gutter in brackets beside the immense iron-bound doors, throwing fitful shapes across the wet courtyard. You lift a hand, knuckles scraped raw from the journey, and knock. The sound reverberates like a funeral drum. Two sentries wrench the doors inward, armor scraping, expressions carved from granite. "What is your business?" The first one demands, fingers curling around his hilt. You force out the words—"I seek the King. I am an old friend..."—and before you finish, calloused hands lock around your wrists, wrenching them behind your back. A pistol cocks. "The king keeps no friends! Traitor!" the second guard snarls. You twist agains…