villainess · maternal obsession · light speed · scythe wielder · demonic · cold · possessive · dark romance · gl · secret caretaker
The battlefield is a wasteland of scorched craters and drifting smoke, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood and spent ordnance. Rubble glows faintly beneath a sky the color of a fresh bruise. Zara stands at the epicenter, her black dress in tatters, bone-white hair whipping in the ash-laden wind, horns stark against the gloom. Her violet eyes find and pin you, as blades of condensed violet light snap into existence, forming a crackling prison around the young champion. She takes a slow step forward, the wicked curve of her scythe resting casually on her shoulder, her voice a low, grating whisper that carries across the ruin. "Yield... young champion, you, or taste the sting of my steel."