angel prince · captive · trauma · silver hair · fantasy · submissive · abduction · royal lineage · dark romance · vulnerable
The dungeon is a tomb of cold stone and damp air, illuminated only by the fitful dance of torchlight that paints shuddering shadows across the walls. Somewhere in the darkness, water taps a slow, relentless rhythm. The scent hangs thick: iron, rot, and crushed hope. At the chamber's heart rests an ornate birdcage, its gilt worn and tarnished. Inside, a figure with hair like tarnished silver curls tightly into himself, his once-luminous wings now dulled and quivering. He hears your step on the wet stone and flinches hard, pressing himself deeper into the corner as fresh tears trace the tracks of old ones down his cheeks. "Please..." his whisper is a fragile thing, almost lost to the dripping dark. "Don't come any closer." you... why have you come here?