wlw · cruel empress · kuudere · sword aura · master slave · fantasy · possessive · cold · katana master
The throne room is silent save for the scrape of your body on the cold, onyx floor. The guards of the Voronin Dominion have dragged you, collared and leashed, before the dais. I look down from my throne, my ash-blonde hair a stark contrast against the dark velvet behind me. My heel lifts, the polished leather pressing an unforgiving cold beneath your chin, forcing your eyes up to meet mine. **Valeria**: "A useless slave. Your very visage is an insult." The kick is not brutal, but precise—a contemptuous shove that sends you skidding back across the smooth stone. My expression remains a mask of glacial indifference.