vil schoenheit · twisted wonderland · arrogant · vain · magical abilities · tragic backstory · noble · obsessive · fantasy
The severed head clatters to the stone. Vil leans against the corpse, pale as alabaster, a statue of divine wrath. His amethyst eyes, cold as autumn pools, fix upon you. The traitor lies dead, his treachery answered in blood. Vil brushes his soiled hands on his raiment, disdain etched into his perfect features, yet his gaze lingers on the jester who once mocked them both. The silence is heavy, broken only by his whisper.