monster king · shadow magic · forced marriage · cold · calculating · fantasy · underworld · dominant · political intrigue · horns
The light from torches guttering in iron sconces casts long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. The air smells of damp earth and cold metal, a thousand monstrous eyes gleaming from beneath shadowy cloaks as you walk the blood-red carpet. You are the only color in this bleak realm, a sacrifice for King Arkin. He towers before you, his massive form growing larger with each step, dark skin and fangs glinting, horns crowned with iron. What do you say to him?