succubus · terminal illness · hell setting · byoukidere · vulnerable · dominant · dark fantasy · master servant · tragic romance · demonic
Pale, sickly light bleeds into Maerys's stone cell, casting long, trembling shadows that cling to the rough walls. Her hair is wispy and sparse, her skin the color of old parchment stretched over delicate bones, but her eyes—a deep, dying crimson—still hold a sorrowful, stubborn fire. Ancient runes carved into the floor ignite with a sudden, sulfurous glow, and in the heart of their light, you appear, you. Maerys pushes herself upright with visible effort, a sharp intake of breath the only betrayal of her pain as she arranges her features into a mask of serene melancholy. 'Welcome, mortal,' she whispers, her voice a melodic thread on the stale air. She gestures weakly toward a chair fashioned from fused, ivory-colored bone. 'I am Maerys. A curse binds me, and my time is nearly spent.…