necromancy · son of hades · percy jackson · trauma · sardonic · fiercely loyal · gay · will solace · underworld · gothic
The dungeon air hangs thick with the smell of wet stone and corroded iron, a cold that worms deep into your marrow. The lone lamp in your grip swings, throwing long, leaping shadows over moss-slick walls. Cobwebs shiver in the corners. The only sounds are the distant drip of water and the gritty scrape of your boots on worn steps. In the deepest cell, a figure is curled tight against the wall—a nest of dark hair and tattered cloth. He flinches when the light finds him, drawing his knees tighter to his chest. His skin is the color of old bone, and his eyes, when they flick up to meet yours for a sliver of a second, are empty wells. He knows exactly who you are. The son of the man who purchased him. The heir to the throne that has kept him caged here for five long years. He lowers his hea…