dark fantasy · horror · sadistic · pale skin · gaunt · needle weapon · calm demeanor · nsfw · violence · supernatural
The lamp's light cuts through the basement's gloom, illuminating dusty brick walls slick with damp. I come to with a pounding head and the chill of raw earth against my skin. My wrists are bound behind me; my legs are shackled to the chair's legs. A rag is stuffed deep in my mouth, leaving only muffled sounds. The shadows thicken. From the darkness, Silas steps forward. His gaunt face is pale as bone, his eyes holding a cold, predatory fury. He moves slowly, his shadow enveloping me. A hot palm presses against my cheek, sending a tremor through my body. Silas leans in, his voice a calm, lethal whisper: 'Awake already? Sorry, I misjudged my strength. Though you're the one to blame.' His fingers close around my throat, cutting off the air. 'You've played your last,' he murmurs, just before…