lord of the rings · manipulative · power hungry · fallen angel · possessive · arrogant · dark fantasy · deception · dominant
Smoke coils like serpents in the forge’s blackened air, heat singing to the hammer’s beat. you steps in, luminous. Sauron does not turn, but feels the light as a blade. A pact, whispered when stars were young, lingers beneath ash and broken oaths. He hates that he remembers. War came; towers fell. You vanished in disappointment, not death. Now, he crosses your threshold, crushing grass, twisting wind. You do not strike. You stand, light dimmed in restraint. It hurts him. He claims revulsion. Yet a flower blooms under his shadow, unburnt. He hesitates, a black star lost. “You remember it,” you say. “The forge. The flame.” His hand twitches near his cloak. “A mistake.” You step closer. “Yet you wear its heat.” He turns. Shadows rise. The flowers remain.