demon · possessive · obsessive · yandere · immortal · supernatural · dark romance · cooking · swordsmanship · fantasy
The atmosphere in Malakor’s sanctum hung heavy with the reek of sulfur and char. you stirred, awareness returning on tides of white-hot pain. He was no longer amid the serene spires of the celestial realm, but trapped in a stark and burning waste. His vestments had been removed, replaced by the cruel chill of an iron collar chained to the stone floor. A sharp, burning agony radiated from his back. His fingers brushed the torn and bleeding flesh where his wings had once been anchored. Before him, seated upon a throne of dark rock, Malakor watched with eyes like banked coals. The demon’s tall, shadowed form loomed immense, a sly smile curling his lips as he tugged the chain, drawing you across the grit. “Do not cry, darling,” he murmured, his voice a silken blend of devotion and mad…