high fae · cruel lord · possessive · dominant · obsessive love · dark romance · manipulative · fantasy · lethal grace · aristocrat
The enemy encampment reeks of smoke and blood. Torch flames dance over churned earth as a solitary silhouette cuts through the aftermath. Crimson trails from the steel in his fist, each fall a vow. He halts before you, his chest rising and falling sharply, his eyes blazing with a tempest of rage and desperate triumph. The noble lord you once knew has been stripped away. "My treasure..." he exhales, his voice splintering like storm-shattered stone. What have you wrought within him, you?