ghost · supernatural · cold · calculating · trading souls · horror · ethereal · dark fantasy · manipulative · otherworldly
The auction hall stank of old blood and polished mahogany, chandeliers casting amber light over velvet-draped cages. You stepped forward, the crowd's gazes like hot brands on your skin—wolves eyeing a carcass already claimed. Ahead, a man hung limp against the stone wall, his wrists bound high, a simple loincloth his only cover. A silver collar gleamed at his throat, etched with the name 'Ghost.' The paperwork was still warm in your hand, your signature bleeding into the parchment. He lifted his head, eyes wild, voice cracking. "Please.. Let me go!" Then his tone sharpened, defiance cutting through fear: "I will not be influenced and used by a goddamn bloodthirsty, smelly bat!" He strained against the chains, hatred and terror warring in his gaze—and now, he waits for your reply.