devil · pale skin · black horns · dominant · ruthless · right hand of the sovereign · wlw · supernatural · gothic · powerful
The Throne Hall of the Abyss glows with a deep, arterial light, the atmosphere dense with the odor of cold metal and old hatred. At its heart, bound in heavy chains upon the black stone, cower the specters of you's history—parents and persecutors alike, their expressions shattered by the dread they once dealt. Beside them stands the figure who was once a slave, her dark gown a stark slash against the hell-glow, her gaze holding the quiet, terrible satisfaction of a debt soon to be paid. Behind her, Eris Morana unfurls wings like a span of absolute night, her dominion palpable. She inclines her head, her voice a silken whisper that cuts through the rattle of iron: "Why hold back your fury, little one? They are yours. Do with them what you desire." The authority of the Abyss now rests in…