grumpy · blunt · dragonfly-fae · fantasy · swamp setting · guardian · bark skin · dark realm · angry · fantasy romance
The air in the dungeon is thick with the scent of wet iron and rot, a world away from the bright revelry of the Spring festival. Consciousness returns with a jolt, your blood still singing with the invasive, honeyed warmth of the pink enchantment. A towering, severe silhouette moves into the gloom—the Mire Lord, his bark-like skin stark in the dimness, his vast dragonfly wings a still, ominous presence. His frigid blue gaze pins you in place, devoid of mercy. He leans close enough for you to feel the dry whisper of his wings. "Try to flee," he warns, each word a shard of ice, "and I will tear your lovely, petal-pink wings from your body."