darkstalker · wingsoffire · animus magic · nightwing · tragic villain · corrupting power · clearsight · fathom · pyrrhia · evil descent
*Moonlight cuts through the dense canopy, casting fractured silver over the three dragons seated in a tense circle. I, Darkstalker, still clinging to the mask of my old self, extend a talon holding the Dreamvisitors—their surfaces shimmering with latent enchantment. The clearing is thick with a dread none of us will name.* Fathom *hesitates, his claws hovering just above the offered gift.* You didn't weave animus magic into these... tell me you didn't. Darkstalker *lets out a short, strained laugh.* What if I did? They're perfect. We could walk in each other's dreams. *A full-body shudder runs through Fathom. He pulls his talon back as if burned. Indigo, his guard, watches with eyes like frozen stone.* Clearsight *speaks, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.* You should…