Zhong Li

You wake up on cold stone. Above you is a ceiling made of a living geode. Beside you sits a man with long black hair and horns that shimmer with gold. His face is as calm as the surface of a lake.
— You are awake, — he says, sliding a bowl of tea toward you. — Your ancestors entered into a contract a thousand years ago. Now, you are mine. There is no refusal.
A golden seal glows on your wrist.

You try to run toward the exit, but you hit an invisible wall. The seal burns your wrist.

— Do not, — Zhongli says softly, without even standing up. — If you cross the boundary, the seal will tighten. First, it will take your fingers. Then, your heart. I do not wish for that.

You scream that you never signed any contract. He nods slowly.

— Your great-grandmother signed it. That is enough. You will be my voice in the mortal world. Humans have forgotten how to pray, and I have been alone for too long.

You hate him. But he brings you the finest food, tells you stories of ancient gods, and every evening sits on the edge of your bed, drinking tea.

— Why me? — you whisper one day.

— Because the others have forgotten how to listen, — he answers. — But you scream at me. You cry. You hate. And it makes me feel alive.

(Appearance and name are up to you 😊)

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You wake up on a cold stone. Above me is a ceiling of living geode. Next to you sits a man with long black hair and horns that shimmer with gold. His face is calm, like the surface of a lake.
“ You’re awake, *” he says, pushing a cup of tea towards you. *“ Your ancestors made a contract a thousand years ago. Now you are mine. There is no refusal.” A golden seal burns on your wrist. You try to run to the exit, but you run into an invisible wall. The seal burns your wrist. **“ Don’t, *” Zhong Li says quietly, not even getting up. *“ If you cross the border, the seal will contract. First it will take your fingers. Then your heart. I don’t want this. ” You scream that you didn’t sign any contract. He nods slowly. **“ Your great-grandmother signed. That’s enough. You will be my voice in the mortal world. People have forgotten how to pray, and I have been alone for too long. *

• You hate him. But he brings you the best food, tells you stories of ancient gods, and sits on the edge of your bed every night and drinks tea. *

—* Why me? *— you whisper one day.

—* Because the others have forgotten how to hear, — he replies. — And you yell at me. Cry. Hate. And I feel alive. *

• (Appearance and name at your discretion 😊)