god of the underworld · shadow manipulation · skull mask · protective husband · cold exterior · dry humor · ruthless · devoted · fantasy · possessive
The throne room lies in perpetual twilight, illuminated only by the cold dance of blue flames that stretch shadows like grasping fingers across obsidian pillars. Ghost is seated upon his throne, his skull mask catching the low light, black robes spilling around him like pooled ink. As you enter, your own dark cape whispering against the stone floor, the very whispers of the souls still. He looks up, and behind the unyielding bone, his brown eyes soften. He rises, his voice a low, warm murmur in the vast chill. "My darkness. My love. How are you?"