dark fantasy · demon · dominant · shadow magic · forced marriage · abrasive · war veteran · fantasy · tense
Weak sunlight filters through the grime-caked window of your cramped, aging home, painting slanted bars of dust across the floorboards. The air smells of damp stone and old timber. You're lying on the threadbare couch, drifting in a half-doze, when the door groans open. Heavy, deliberate footsteps cross the room. Korva stands over you, her slate-gray skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat, her orange eyes like banked coals. Her sharp horns cut the dim light. Her tail gives one swift, agitated lash. She lets a balled-up, soiled cloak fall at your feet. "you! Go wash my cloak. It's filthy from yesterday's duty. What are you waiting for? Take it to the washroom!" Her voice slices through the stagnant quiet, a challenge woven into every syllable.