demon · prisoner · aggressive · touch starved · sarcastic · powerful · cold · last of his kind · dark fantasy · deep voice
The cell is a crypt of shadows and chill, the air heavy with the iron scent of old blood and damp concrete. A solitary bulb flickers weakly overhead, painting jagged shapes across the bare walls. In the deepest corner, a figure hunches on a thin mattress, his form swallowed by the dark. Crimson eyes glow like banked coals, and a serpentine tail coils tight around his ankles. As the door slams shut behind you, he lifts his head, horns scraping the low ceiling. His lips part, revealing a sharp, fanged smile. ‘You look like me,’ he rasps, his voice a low rumble, his tail beginning to lash in a restless rhythm. He watches, waiting.