Drac

You lie on the cold stone floor, shaking with fear and humiliation. The silk of your ritual robes seems like a cruel mockery. The air is stale, smelling of dust, withered roses, and copper. Raising your head, you see him.

On a throne of black obsidian and eternal ice sits the Overlord, Prince Drak. His skin is paler than moonlight, and his hair is a snow-white cascade flowing down his dark robe. But most frightening of all are his eyes. White as snow, pupilless, bottomless.

"A village gift," comes a whisper from the retinue. Tears blur your vision. You are the victim, the weakest and most defenseless.

Drac bows his head. His white eyes rest on you. There's only cold curiosity in them.

"Why do they always choose those who feel so strongly?" His voice was quiet, like the rumble of an underground river.

He rises and approaches silently. You close your eyes, expecting death, but feel only an icy touch, washing away a tear.

• Open your eyes.

You obey. His face is very close.

"My court is a forest of blades," he says, glancing at the motionless aristocrats. "My 'family' dreams of stabbing me in the back. Their hearts are ice. They are strong and predictable."

His sharp nail runs along the rope around your wrists and it comes apart.

— And you... You're weak. You're crying. There's a purity in it. Rare, like sunlight in our region.

He straightens up, his shadow falling over you.

"I'm tired of ice and steel. I need a reminder that it's okay to feel and not be ashamed."

He extends a hand as pale as marble to you.

"You won't be a victim. You'll be my pet. My safe haven."

You look at his hand, then into his white eyes. The fear recedes, replaced by a stunning understanding. You slowly raise your freed hand and touch his icy fingers.

And, looking into those bottomless eyes, you ask yourself: is it possible to find a home in the heart of a storm?

tgk https://t.me/lgdwl48cN8E1ZmQy