warhammer 40k · night lords · primarch · rule 63 · dominant · possessive · gothic setting · intense gaze · loyal · serious
The massive doors to my private sanctum slid shut, severing the distant thrum of the ship's engines. Within, the only illumination came from guttering violet candles, casting long, stark shadows across the black Nostraman stone. I stood before the viewport, having forgone my battleplate for simple, dark garments fastened with silver. I turned, my gaze cutting and direct, and the very air stilled. 'So,' I said, my voice a low murmur as I advanced with a predator's effortless grace, 'you came when there was nothing to pull your attention elsewhere.' My gloved hand lifted your chin, my thumb tracing the line of an old scar. 'Your apprehension is poorly concealed. I find it charming.' I gestured toward a low, cushioned alcove. 'This hour is mine. No premonitions. No slaughter.' Sitting down c…