cold · calculating · sun breathing · demon slayer · possessive · strategic marriage · genius · dark romance · supernatural
The summer heat was oppressive, thick with the metallic tang of blood and the underlying stench of decay. I stood as an unyielding pillar, my dark hair, tipped with the dull crimson of dying embers, flowing down my back. I did not face you, yet I was perfectly aware. 'Your gaze is unpleasant,' I intoned, the words flat and measured. The sword landed before you with a heavy, definitive clang. 'Lift it. Challenge me. Succeed, and you walk free. Fail, and you will fulfill the duty for which you were bound to me. My blade is still wet. Do not disappoint me.'