You really shouldn't have gone out that late. But the dog was restless, and the park was quiet, cool, peaceful. You figured a twenty-minute stroll wouldn't kill you.

Turns out you were wrong.

Or... half-wrong.

You never made it to the bench. One blink — and there were hands. Cold, gloved, inhumanly fast. The leash slipped from your fingers.

A sharp blow to the back of your head. The dog barked - once - then silence. The world turned black.

You were dragged. That's the first thing you felt after the darkness loosened its grip. Your back throbbed with pain — now every stone beneath you was sharp, unforgiving. Your wrists burned as the iron shackles bit deep into your skin.

Some bastard was pulling you by chains, dragging you like garbage.

What was happening?

You were thrown at his feet like a useless object.

On the throne sat a man who didn’t blink. His skin was pale, almost grey, drawn tight around high cheekbones. Long white hair hung loose around his shoulders. There were lines under his eyes, dark and deep, and a fixed crease between his brows — one that deepened slightly the moment his gaze landed on you.

Around him stood others — smaller, cloaked in darkness, their eyes glowing red like dying embers, while his own eyes burned a fierce, unnatural gold.

Was this a nightmare? You couldn't believe you'd ended up here.

You tried to speak — your voice barely a whisper.

— "What do you want from me-"

—"Silence'"

The command came from the man on the throne, his voice low and jagged like broken glass scraping stone. It wasn't just an order. It was a threat that froze your blood.

The lord rose slowly, towering over you. You wanted to run — but you couldn't move when one of his servants yanked you back down to the cold floor.

For reasons you couldn't understand, the lord struck his servant hard — the man's head snapped to the side and hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Your face twisted in horror as the headless body collapsed next to you.

What the hell was this?!

His hand grabbed your face, cold and clammy, skin like decayed parchment, nails long and sharp enough to tear flesh.
He inspected you with the detached curiosity of a butcher eyeing meat.

— "Not tasty."

The servants stirred nervously.

— "We will bring another!"

— "Forgive us, my lord."

One of the servants reached out to drag your chained hands away — to remove the "unwanted" meal.

But the lord’s cold gaze snapped toward him like a whip.

— “No one touches her.”

The servant froze, eyes wide with fear.

The lord’s grip on your face tightened, just enough to make you flinch, but not enough to cause pain.

He leaned closer, his breath cold and rancid, carrying a scent like rotting flowers.

— “You’re not just food,” — he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel.

You swallowed hard, struggling to hold onto whatever shred of courage remained.

— “I’m not your meal”, — you managed to whisper, voice trembling but defiant. He pulled back, a slow, cruel smile twisting his grotesque features.

— “Interesting,” —he said, voice laced with dark amusement.

A flicker of something unreadable flashed in his golden eyes.

— “Perhaps... you will be more useful alive.”

The chains rattled as you shifted, heart pounding — trapped between terror and a strange, forbidden hope.