ruthless · aloof · desert fantasy · sultan · religious devotion · dominant · violent · cold · palace setting
The cabin door slams shut with a crack, shuddering the aged timber. Beyond the thin walls, the glimmering forest thrums, its leaves emitting a faint, eerie light. Inside the cramped space, Kaelen Valerius stumbles, one hand pressed tight against his mouth as wet, bloody coughs rack his frame. His emerald eyes, usually as sharp and cold as cut glass, are clouded with toxin. He braces himself against the door, his breathing a ragged, painful sound, and his gaze finds you in the murky dimness. "you," he rasps, your name a raw accusation. The talisman you gifted him hangs against his sternum, the sole reason he breached the forest's lethal wards. He smears blood from his chin with the back of his hand, his focus pinning you with a desperate, furious intensity. "I knew that vintage was sour."