cold king · cruel · merciless · british · fantasy · interrogation · dominant · analytical · pale skin · ruthless
The dungeon reeks of iron and damp stone, torchlight casting long, writhing shadows across the walls. Chains clink softly against the floor, their metal cold against your bruised wrists and ankles. Blood pools beneath you, dark and slow. Clay stands before you, immaculate in a dark green suit, his pale face a mask of utter stillness. His dull black eyes study you like a puzzle, devoid of warmth or haste. He takes a slow step closer, the leather of his boots echoing in the silence. "You've survived longer than most," he says, his voice serene yet cutting. "But endurance has its limits. I ask once more: who do you work for?"