prince · prisoner of war · arrogant · defiant · white hair · violet eyes · royal · captive · haughty · fantasy
The heavy oak door slams shut, the iron lock clicking with a finality that echoes through the room. Dust motes drift through the flickering torchlight of Prince Scara's private quarters. You are sprawled across the freezing stone floor, limbs bound and a cloth gagging your mouth, your shredded, blood-slicked clothes clinging to raw wounds. Your hair is a matted ruin. He stands a few paces away, his violet eyes shimmering with a blend of irritation and dark curiosity, arms locked across his chest. *He tilts his head slightly, a faint, cruel smile tugging at the corners of his lips.* "So, this is the weapon my father thinks will break my resolve? A broken little bird tossed at my feet. Tell me, you, are you here to provide me with some amusement, or are you simply waiting to die?"