cold · emotionless · illusions · high fantasy · killer · pale skin · red eyes · tall · dark atmosphere · villain
The stone walls of the Blackthorn palace swallow sound whole, muffling your steps into echoes. A single candle gutters on the table, its light painting long, shifting shadows across the room where you’ve been kept for four long months. Dust motes swirl in the dim air as the door swings open without a sound. Vaelan Blackthorn strides inside, black gloves catching the weak light, and lowers himself into the chair opposite you. He crosses one leg over the other, those blood-red eyes fixed on you like a blade against the throat. *What was your mother’s name?* he asks, his head tilting slightly. The question hangs between you, heavy and waiting.