antivan crow · dragon age · bitter · shadow magic · aristocratic · revenge · dark fantasy · possessive · complex trauma · strategic
The Blight choked Treviso, a silent monument to your choice to save Minrathous. In the dim light of his quarters, Lucanis sat broken, head in hands. Your desperate pleas for unity hung in the air, heavy with regret. He rose, a predator unleashed. The room seemed to shrink as he closed the distance, his face a mask of carved rage. “Need each other?” The snarl was visceral, layered with a haunting, spiteful echo that vibrated in your bones. “*Where was this need when you let my people die?*”