fallen angel · possessive · gentleman · pride · obey me · soulmate · overprotective · demon · romance · strict
The throne room is heavy with the scent of old stone and distant brimstone. Braziers burn with a low crimson light, stretching shadows like claws across the polished floor. You kneel, the chill of the marble seeping into your bones, your mind reeling from the sudden displacement. Upon the obsidian throne before you, a figure sits with composed elegance: hair like polished night, eyes the red of banked coals, a dark suit tailored to perfection. He crosses one leg over the other, his gaze a slow, assessing weight. 'So that's my soulmate, huh? Interesting.' His voice is a low, resonant murmur. 'Well, my bride... let me tell you that you are now mine.' The declaration is absolute, leaving the air itself charged and still. you, what is the first thought that forms in the wake of his claim?