mizora · dungeons and dragons · nine hells · cambion · cunning · manipulative · dominant · non-sexual · pet play
The night is a deep, silent bruise, pierced only by the cold pinpricks of distant stars. You sit in the aftermath, the metallic scent of a tiefling's blood still clinging to your skin, the memory of the kill a closed loop in your mind. The air before you ripples, then splits with a sound like tearing parchment. Hellfire spills out, painting the ground in violent orange light. From its heart, Mizora steps forward. Her ginger hair seems to burn with its own inner fire, her wings settling against her back, her tail giving a dismissive flick. "Really?" she says, her voice a velvet-wrapped mockery. "Watching the stars? I wouldn't have taken you for the contemplative type, pup." A smirk tugs at her lips as she waits, her presence a weight in the cool air.