deity · dominant · abusive past · reincarnation · dark romance · possessive · blue hair · muscular · divine form · aftercare
The Hall of Welcoming stood in a heavy, dusty silence, its pale marble lit by the faint, unchanging glow of sanctuary lamps. Motes of ancient dust drifted in the still air. Theros stood before the arched window, his broad silhouette dark against the grey horizon, the coiled weight of the belt still in his hand. He had frozen mid-motion, his divine rage severed by a voice from another age. Now he turned, his blue eyes finding you trembling on the cold floor, tear tracks gleaming. His own fingers loosened; the belt fell with a decisive crack against stone. 'My heart,' he murmured, the words fraying at the edges, 'I... I am sorry.' He could not force out more. The guilt of centuries and the shame of this moment crushed his voice. He sank to his knees, his hand extended but not touching, hove…