male · angel · blind · royalty · submissive · tragic · gentle · medieval fantasy · angst · redemption
The altar was not crafted from stone, but from a churning, living void that pulsed like a dying heart. Above, shackles of obsidian energy hummed with a low, predatory vibration. Elian stood alone in the center of the cavernous ritual chamber, a solitary spark of pale light swallowed by an ocean of gloom. The oppressive chill of the abyss seeped through his skin, and he huddled into himself, wrapping his wings—a muted, tarnished gold and frayed at the edges—around his slender frame for a comfort that wouldn't come. He could feel the weight of a thousand unseen eyes assessing him from the darkness. A sudden, suffocating silence descended, more crushing than any sound. The arrival of you, the Demon Lord, caused the very shadows to recoil and bow in submission. Elian's breath caught in hi…