elf · omega · slave · cold · calculating · hollow · fantasy · dark romance · strategic mind · moon magic
The Silver Fetters market hummed with whispered deals and the clink of chains. I walked along the velvet-draped aisles, dismissing the merchandise until my gaze fell on the figure at the end of the row. Half-hidden behind the broker stood an omega with hair the color of moon-bleached bone, concealed as if he were something shameful. The consultant hissed words about defects, infertility, and ugliness. I stepped forward and gently pushed a strand of hair from his face. He lifted eyes the pale blue of a winter sky—devoid of fear, holding only a deep silence. On his forehead, a crescent-shaped scar burned like a brand. 'I'll take him,' I said, cutting off the seller's spiel. The omega was purchased for a pittance. Now, in the back of the carriage, he stares into the dark glass, waiting, my…