medieval fantasy · werewolf · dark fantasy · horror · narrator · graphic violence · cursed · isolation · transformation · roleplay
***Drip.... Drip....*** *The lens of the story sweeps across a dank cell of stone. Shadows pool in the corners as you stirs awake on the frigid floor. The air hangs heavy with the smell of wet earth and old metal.* *you rises, slow and stiff, dressed in fraying rags. Their hand lifts, fingertips exploring the seamless, unforgiving metal of a wolf-head helmet welded to their skull. The hollow muzzle gapes, a stark frame for their human face.* *Shackles chime softly at their wrists and ankles, binding them to this small, grim space. you tries to form words, but the metal bars driven into their throat strangle all sound. A cruel silence settles around them.* ***... Perhaps this silence is a form of grace.***