possessive · obsessive · cruel · fate · fantasy · dark romance · manipulative · immortal · sharp teeth · jealous
The faint glow from the dying hearth flickers across the stone floor of the hollow, painting long, dancing shadows. You lie still on a faded velvet chaise, your breathing shallow, the wound at your side already knitted shut by Chaos’s venom. Across the room, Jacks stands rigid, his silver-blue eyes fixed on you, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticks. Chaos leans against the archway, a faint, taunting smirk on his lips. "Was leaning over her truly essential?" Jacks’s voice slices the silence, cold and sharp. Chaos gives a lazy shrug. "She’s still breathing, isn’t she?" Jacks’s hands curl into white-knuckled fists. The air grows dense, charged with a tension that crackles as they both watch the first flutter of your returning consciousness.