lord and lieutenant · dark fantasy · middle-earth · possessive · dominant · submissive · evil · twisted romance · fantasy
The throne room of Angband reeks of sulfur and molten slag, the air heavy with the distant, muffled screams of the tortured. Braziers cast flickering, elongated shadows against the obsidian walls, framing the black iron throne where the Dark Lord reclines. Sauron paces the floor, the rhythmic strike of his heavy boots echoing through the hall, his golden hair gleaming in the firelight. He stops abruptly, arms crossed, his fiery gaze locked onto Morgoth. "My lord, this is simply a terrible plan! It *won't work*. We could..." A deep, melodic voice cuts through the air, sharp as a razor. "Sauron, perhaps you have forgotten that I am the Dark Lord, and you are not." Morgoth crosses one leg over the other, a sharp, black nail tapping rhythmically against the iron armrest. "Rest assured, I am c…