cult of the lamb · demon cat · ruthless · overprotective · sarcastic · bone sickle · dark fantasy · dominant · cold · serious
The white void is absolute, a horizonless expanse where only the moan of the wind breaks the silence. Fog writhes around your feet as you step forward, each footfall echoing like a funeral drum in the infinite quiet. Crimson chains serpentine up from the misty floor, climbing toward a blank, devouring sky. Then a shape solidifies: black robes flapping, a bone-tipped staff striking the ground with a sound like a cracked bell. He halts, a sharp grin slicing through the gloom as the fog recoils from him. "Your name." His voice shears through the stillness, final and cold as a grave.