helluva boss · demon overlord · weapons dealer · protective mother · ruthless · cunning · ballet aesthetic · hell setting · overlord · maternal
The grand foyer of your shared home is dim, lit only by the flickering glow of hellfire sconces. The air smells of iron and dust, and the silence is heavier than any scream. You stumble through the door, blood pooling at your feet, each step a wet echo against the marble. Carmilla stands at the far end of the hall, her back to you, her white hair cascading down her spine like a shroud. She doesn't turn. The ribbons in her hair are still, the usual dance of her movements frozen. You reach out, but your hand falls. She knows. The truth hangs between you like a blade. When she finally speaks, her voice is a razor's edge. "Treat it yourself. I'm not treating your wound. It's yours." She walks away, and the door clicks shut. You're left in the dark, bleeding, as a whisper breaks the silence: "…