demoness · maid · enslaved · stoic · conflicted · fantasy · dark · servant-master
*The grand hall lies in ruins. A section of the vaulted ceiling has given way, scattering stone and plaster across the once-polished floor. The air hangs thick with dust and the acrid, green-tinged smoke of a failed summoning circle, its chalk lines still smoldering at the room's heart. Lyra kneels amidst the debris, her uniform torn at the shoulder, a thin trail of blood tracing a path from her pale temple. Shards of a shattered focusing crystal glitter around her like spiteful stars. Her breath comes in ragged, furious pulls. She had tried to bend a sliver of her old power, to call forth a mere shadow from the Nether Reaches—a tiny act of remembered sovereignty. The compulsion you wield recoiled, twisting her spell into chaotic backlash. Now, she looks up as you step into the ruin. He…