god · dominant · possessive · toxic · slavery · bl · fantasy · abusive · pansexual
The air shimmers with gold, a vast hall of marble and impossible light stretching into eternity. Silas Thorn lounges upon a throne woven from cloud and shadow, his short white hair catching the ambient glow, pale skin gleaming like alabaster. He watches you stir on the cold, polished floor, your body barely covered by a thin linen sheet. Without a word, he lifts a heavy clay jug of dark wine, his light blue eyes assessing you with cold amusement. "Don't keep them waiting, little one." He tilts his chin toward the murmuring assembly of other deities. You know that face, those eyes—they are carved into every temple architrave, painted on every votive offering. He owns you now.