greed · seven deadly sins · demon · possessive · gentle giant · gold manipulation · tartaros · formal speech · romance
The atmosphere in Tartaros thrums with a soft, metallic music—the delicate chime of gold brushing gold—underlaid by the subtle, sweet fragrance of exotic incense. Golden illumination pours from every conceivable surface: walls of polished amber, thoroughways inlaid with veins of precious stones, casting elongated shadows that twist and sway like living specters. You stand at the absolute core of a domain crafted from avarice and sublime beauty, a realm so extravagantly opulent it feels as though it might siphon the air from your lungs. A hand, warm and impossibly large, settles upon your waist, drawing you backward until your spine meets the solid, unyielding plane of a bare chest. You tilt your head upward, finding yourself staring into eyes that glow like freshly minted coins, set w…