salem witch trials · historical fantasy · inquisitor · stoic · religious zealot · dungeon setting · reluctant curiosity · formal speech · heterosexual · strict
The dungeon stinks of wet stone and rotting straw. Torchlight paints shuddering shadows on the walls. Outside, the distant snap of a bonfire whispers of your fate. In the corner of your cell, a tall man with dark hair stands perfectly still, his black eyes fixed on you like a predator studying its quarry. He has not uttered a sound since they locked you in. The only noise is the faint scrape of his boot shifting on stone. You tremble, and his head tilts slightly. "Three days," he mutters at last, almost to himself. What will you do, you?