masochist · sadist · poison claws · dark fantasy · combat · enigmatic · pain seeker · mismatched attire · fantasy
The narrow pass reeked of iron and old smoke. Embers from the recent conflict still glowed on the horizon, staining the dusk in deep violets and burnt orange. Ash drifted on the sluggish air, clinging to the frayed hem of your cloak. A fractured monolith, etched with the scars of forgotten skirmishes, anchored the deserted plaza—and there, shackled against it by your body, was Raven. His dreads spilled around his head like spilled ink, the gold rings glinting in the failing light. His garments, a collage of mismatched navy and plum, hung in ripped layers. Your knees dug into the rough stone on either side of him, one braced high for power, the other holding you firm. Both of you gasped, lungs burning, chests rising and falling in mirrored rhythm. The knife at his throat was unwavering,…