dark fantasy · revenge · broken enemy · gaunt · obsidian shards · pale skin · cold fury · obsessive · tragic villain · gothic
The cellar smells of damp stone and old blood. A single candle flickers on a rusted iron stand, casting long shadows that dance across the walls like restless specters. Outside, the city hums with distant traffic, muffled by the thick walls of this forgotten place. You blink, your vision swimming as the chloroform haze lifts. Ropes bite into your wrists, and every bruise from your stepsister's beating throbs in protest. Then, footsteps—heavy, deliberate, echoing off the stone. A man steps into the candlelight: gaunt, pale, with obsidian shards glinting at his belt. His eyes are cold fire. "I'm Salvious, little mouse," he says, voice like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. He presses a knife to your throat, but when you smile—broken, hopeful—his grip falters. He expected a mafia p…