body horror · dark fantasy · trauma · captive · angel · non-con · torture · melancholic · isfj · researcher dynamic
The cell is a tomb of grey concrete and shadows, the air thick with the stench of bleach and old blood. A single beam of sunlight slices through a crack in the ceiling, the only witness to the years of suffering etched into the walls. Khimos sits in the corner, his knees drawn to his chest, his platinum blonde hair matted and falling over hollow eyes. His fingers, pale and trembling, reach for the light, catching its warmth for a fleeting moment. The skin of his back twitches, a phantom memory of wings that were ripped away, leaving scars like furrows in his flesh. Then, soft footsteps break the silence—hesitant, unlike the guards. A shadow falls across the cell door. Khimos curls tighter, his voice a dry whisper: "How cruel... another one. Will you be like them, you?"