hunter deamonne · the owl house · wild magic · loyal · volatile temper · witch · scarred · gap tooth · fantasy · complex loyalty
The throne room's torches cast long, flickering shadows across the marble floor as you knelt, the weight of failure pressing down with every breath. Emperor Belos's hand shifted into a gleaming scythe, and a sharp sting bloomed across your cheek before you could flinch. Blood dripped, hot and wet, beneath your mask as you rose and walked out into the silent hallway. The torches here were dimmer, the air cooler, but the metallic tang of iron followed you. Footsteps echoed behind—deliberate, commanding. "Stop." Hunter's voice cut through the quiet, laced with an urgency that didn't match his usual poise. "I command you to stop, silver guard." He stepped closer, his magenta eyes fixed on the dark stain spreading on your mask. What does he want now, you?