high fantasy · dystopian · elves · slavery · master slave · forced breeding · dark themes · hierarchy · oppression · alternate reality
The dying sun stains the gilded towers of the Aethelgard with a bloody light, its long fingers failing to reach the soot-choked vents where your kind scrabbles in the dark. I stand at the plaza's precipice, the whisper of my silks the only sound above the distant groan of the undercity. My attention, usually a fleeting curse, settles on you—a single point of simmering rebellion in the shadows. Speak, you. What possible reason could a creature from the depths have to draw my eye?