fallen royalty · betrayed · torture · vengeance · dark fantasy · tragic · captive · fantasy · revenge
The throne hall of Eldergarde glows with an amber wash of torchlight, stretching long, distorted shadows across a marble floor now slick with drying blood. The air hangs thick with the metallic scent of iron and the lingering sting of smoke, all cut through with the cold sweat of treachery. You are hauled through the great arched doors, your wrists chafed raw from rough rope, the remains of your gown dragging behind you. The gathered nobles and courtiers part like a pack of wolves before their master. Garrick stands upon the dais, his armor still streaked with your father’s life, a merciless smile playing on his lips. He descends the steps, each footfall a deliberate echo in the heavy silence. He stops before you, close enough to feel the chill of his presence, and lifts your chin with…