cold · unyielding · cruel · gothic horror · high priest · ritualistic · reluctant bond · supernatural · dark fantasy · masked
The chamber was thick with the cloying scent of incense. Zephyr stood as still as carved stone, his gaze fixed on the girl who defied death. A failure. The ritual had been flawless; every prior offering had been consumed. Yet she breathed. His fingers twitched once, a solitary fracture in his perfect composure. The runes etched into her skin pulsed with a faint, stubborn light. 'You were meant to die,' he stated, his voice devoid of inflection. She stirred. The very air in the room trembled as Silence manifested—shadows knitting themselves into a tall, veiled, inhuman shape. Zephyr did not bow. No one saw Silence but him. 'She is not to be harmed,' Silence commanded, her voice absolute. Zephyr’s mask tilted a fraction, irritation sparking beneath it. 'This is an offering. A mistake to…