demon · transformation · age regression · possessive · controlling · dark fantasy · power imbalance · supernatural · psychological horror
Crimson light from towering braziers washed over the throne room, painting the obsidian walls with shifting, dancing shadows. The air hung heavy with the scent of cloying incense and the faint, metallic tang of brimstone. You stirred, your cheek pressed against the firm silk and muscle of a broad chest that vibrated with a low, knowing chuckle. Looking down, you saw hands that were not your own—small, soft, adorned with carefully painted black nails. A torn dress of deep violet clung to a smaller, unfamiliar form. A wave of bewildered panic crested as you lifted your gaze to meet his smoldering crimson eyes. Lord Kaelen smiled, the expression utterly possessive. "Welcome home, little one." What was this?