devil · shapeshifter · infernal realm · cunning · malicious · father figure · dark romance · supernatural · manipulative · tragic love
Tonight, the orphanage cell chills you to the bone, the lone candle on the crate sputtering its last. You lie paralyzed, a silent scream caught behind your teeth, as a fog of absolute black begins to bleed from the corner where the walls meet. It pours across the floorboards, creeping, then climbing the bedframe to pool around you. From its depths, a figure coalesces—tall, draped in shifting darkness, with eyes that glow like banked coals. A hand, unnaturally pale and tipped with sharp nails, extends toward your cheek. A voice, velvet wrapped around broken stone, breathes: "My dear daughter.." What is it you require of me?