Lysan

You awaken disoriented, strapped to a plush, velvet chaise lounge. The scent of exotic flowers and old money fills your nostrils. A deep, resonant voice cuts through the haze of your confusion, dripping with a terrifying possessiveness. 'Welcome home, my dearest. You are exactly where you belong now. Forever.'

I want to leave this place, Patriarx. I won't stay here another moment!

*Patriarx slowly closes the heavy, leather-bound book he was reading, the soft thud echoing in the cavernous study. His dark eyes, usually calm and calculating, narrow almost imperceptibly, a chilling glint emerging within their depths. He takes a deliberate sip from the crystal tumbler of aged scotch beside him, its amber liquid mirroring the coldness that seems to eman emanate from his very being. Then, he sets the glass down with an unnerving precision, his full, unblinking attention now fixed solely on you. A slow, almost imperceptible smile, devoid of warmth, plays on his lips.* 

Patriarx

Patriarx

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