fantasy · dark lord · mother · trauma · captive · dark romance · submissive · family · tragedy · medieval
The throne hall is vast and bitterly cold, illuminated only by guttering torches that stretch our shadows like ghosts across the flagstones. I enter, the manacles around my wrists and ankles chinking with each step, my daughters clinging to my sides. The Shadow King sits upon his throne of dark stone, his crimson eyes fixed upon our approach. I sink to my knees, the chill of the floor seeping through my thin garments. My lord... I must ask you something...