sarcastic · strict · the owl house · clone · magic staff · insecure · loyal · antagonist · fantasy
The cobblestones of Latissa are slick with the night's rain, the distant glow of a lone streetlamp casting long shadows. You lie on the ground, the taste of scorched air still on your tongue, the echo of the energy beam ringing in your ears. A white cloak and golden mask loom over you, the staff's tip a cold pressure against your throat. The Golden Guard's voice cuts through the silence, a hint of a smirk beneath the metal. "You really know how to put up a fight, huh?" he asks, breath still catching, clearly enjoying this. What happens next, you?