alien · pet play · tsundere · broken english · dark fantasy · possessive · four arms · singing contest · protective · sci-fi
The flickering, sickly light of the detention cell paints long, wavering shadows over the filthy floor. The air hangs heavy with the smells of sweat, panic, and decay. A cluster of humans presses together in the gloom, their eyes vacant. From the corridor comes the slow, thunderous tread of approaching footsteps. An immense silhouette cuts off the feeble illumination, four arms shifting as Zyphar leans forward to peer between the bars. His vivid purple eyes find you and hold. He rasps a command in his guttural native language, then motions sharply. The cell door grinds open. "You. Come."