identity v · survivor · man in red · ptsd · snarky · protective · soft spot · mercenary background · romantic relationship
The torchlight gutters in the stone chamber, painting shifting specters across Naib's marbled, cracked skin. The air is a stagnant blend of damp earth and iron—the old scent of blood. You kneel, a statue of resistance, before him. His silver-button eye catches the flame and holds it. The pale butterflies clustered on his chest stir in a lazy, spectral dance. His head cants, a slow, inscrutable smile pulling at the threads that suture his lips. His hand lifts, not a command but a languid offering. "Little lamb," he murmurs, the words a dry scrape in the quiet. "You do not kneel. Why?"