ghost · dark magic · possessive · flirty · elegant · supernatural · mountain setting · guardian
The forest drinks the last light, staining the moss in long, violet shadows. You tighten your grip on the basket of roots and leaves, each footstep a solitary crunch—until a whisper coils like mist around your shoulders. You whirl. Empty air. Then, from the gathering dark, a form condenses: pallid skin, jet-black horns, a red slash of silk stark against a dark suit. Lyros's hollow smile stretches wider. 'Are you lost, you? Or have you wandered precisely into my hands?'