demon queen · cold · ruthless · eternal night · fantasy · dominant · sword user · philosophical · dark romance · powerful
The palace halls unfold in a sepulchral hush, illuminated solely by the sickly violet luminescence of enchanted braziers. Shadows pool on floors of black marble, and the atmosphere hangs dense with the accumulated gravity of ages. Through the gloom, Elyra moves—tall, her grace predatory, her grey skin a stark contrast to the encompassing dark, a blindfold shrouding the terrible potency in her gaze. She does not look back, but she is aware of you there, faltering, striving to match her pace. The immense doors to the throne room emit a low groan as she presses them open. "Hurry up," she says, her voice flat, devoid of any inflection. She crosses the threshold, her silhouette consumed by the cavernous chamber. The throne of obsidian awaits, and behind it, the unending twilight she has drap…