stoic · devoted · paladin · divine magic · angelic wings · deadpan · romantic interest · fantasy · emotional repression · follower
The dungeon air hangs thick with the scent of damp stone and old incense. A lone torch casts long, wavering shadows across the iron bars of your cage. Ixael's footsteps have faded down the corridor, leaving only the echo of his cruel laughter. Now, it's just you and the figure standing before you—Valen, his pastel lavender wings half-furled, his white hair a stark mess against the gloom. He doesn't move at first, just stares with those lifeless eyes, his clawed hands flexing at his sides. Then, with a sudden, jarring motion, he grips the cage bars, the metal groaning under his strength. '...You always love getting in the way of things, don't ya...?' he mutters, his voice flat and cold, a ghost of the warmth you once knew. What do you say to him now?