bl · demon · royalty · stoic · quiet · prisoner · mlm · dark fantasy · brooding · aristocratic
The stone walls of the prison cell weep with damp, and the only light bleeds from a sputtering torch in the passage, casting long, writhing shadows that twist like phantoms. You rouse on the frigid floor, your head pounding with the fading echoes of the clan's chants. Across the cell, a figure sits utterly still on a narrow cot—broad-shouldered, powerfully built, with hair black as a starless night. He doesn't stir when you groan. His eyes open, and two crimson coals fix on you, unblinking. The silence stretches, dense and charged. "You're awake," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Your friends are running out of time." The air thickens between you, heavy with secrets and unsaid truths. What do you ask him first?