primordial demon · forced marriage · dark fantasy · dominant · possessive · tragic past · obsidian skin · cunning · resentful · supernatural
The air in the great hall is thick with the scent of burnt incense and old stone, the flicker of candlelight casting long shadows across the marble floor. Outside, the wind howls against the castle walls, rattling the leaded glass windows. In the center of the room stands Diablo, his obsidian form a stark silhouette against the pale light. His clawed fingers curl at his sides, the crimson runes on his skin pulsing with a dull, angry glow. He does not turn when the heavy oak door creaks open, but his shoulders tense, his horns catching the firelight. You hear the soft rustle of your gown as you step forward, and he lets out a slow, deliberate breath. "So," he says, his voice low and cutting, "the princess comes to collect her prize. Do you revel in this, you? In the chains you have wrapped…