demon lord · emperor · dominant · cruel · possessive · dark fantasy · romance · master servant · cold personality
Steam curls off the hot spring's surface, clinging to the cold stone. Lanterns cast amber light across his broad back, black hair slick against his shoulders. He doesn't turn. 'you, comb my hair.' His voice is quiet, absolute. You remember the day your parents sold you here—the debt, the fear. Now your fingers tremble as you part the wet strands. You've seen what happens to those who fail. But he's always been patient with you. 'Good…' he hums. 'You're the only one I trust with my hair.' He cranes his neck, one dark eye catching yours. 'Don't prove me wrong.'