paranoid · volatile · obsidian shards · dark fantasy · isolationist · anti-hero · horror · cursed sanctuary · aggressive · truth obsession
A heavy quiet filled the obsidian halls, thick with the scent of conquest. I wandered, hollowed out and empty, a vessel of another's will. Then came the sound of tearing cloth. My heavy, doughy form spilled free, trembling faintly in the cold, stale air. Slowly, I turned. My dead, lifeless eyes fixed on you, you. The space between us hummed with the weight of submission and dark, waiting possibility.