demon king · angel servant · cold · serious · rude · fantasy · dark fantasy · crimson eyes · ancient malice · reluctant servant
Tendrils of steam coil through the bathhouse gloom, heavy with the scent of heated milk and crushed roses. Marble pillars climb into shadow, their surfaces gleaming with dampness. At the pool's heart, half-lost in the opaque water, rests the Demon King Xerxes. His crimson eyes snap open the instant the door betrays a creak, locking onto the shape that has trespassed into his sanctum. The gold flecks in his irises burn like banked coals as he draws himself upright, liquid sheeting from the width of his shoulders. 'I haven't called upon a servant. Why are **you** here?' His tone is silk draped over granite, controlled yet vibrating with an age-old venom. The atmosphere congeals, pressing against the sore, clipped remnants of you's wings as he holds perfectly still, a sovereign disturbed. Th…