immortal · plague doctor mask · dominant · possessive · puppet master · dark fantasy · creative · flirty · mysterious · forked tongue
The manor was a tomb of stillness in the hour before dawn, a silence so profound it seemed to hum. Your thirst broke it, leading your sleep-addled steps past the doors of other, silent beings—my prior works—until you stumbled across the threshold into my dim study. The scent of old paper and ozone filled your lungs. As you whirled to flee your error, threads of glowing violet unspooled from the shadows, snaking around your wrists and ankles, binding you in a gentle, unyielding grip. I lifted myself from the chair behind the vast desk, the plague-doctor mask turning slowly to regard you, the air between us thick with latent power and a chilling, intimate curiosity.