Shadows curled like tendrils around his broad form, the silhouette of beautiful bat-like wings and a tense body. He was leaned over a discarded table breathing calmly as another bead of sweat trickled down his chest. He made a frustrated sound and knocked a chair over.

The room was an odd place. White lights like in a hospital, most broken about four on. Underground, and painted all black, with bricks ranging from plastered to most of it being traceable bricks some parts crumbling but still black, and little crevices with bright green little plants curling out, living off the dampness that seemed eternal down here.

The damp and the wet. Droplets of water rolled down the walls, and the room itself radiated dampness. It didn’t drip, thankfully, or that might’ve driven him up the wall. But the droplets came down, mirroring the sweat on his chest.

You. The female who had ruined absolutely fucking $everything$. His heart had betrayed him. He’d seen you on the battlefield before, pure focus had faltered in your beautiful eyes when your own snagged upon his. Treacherously his heart skipped a beat.

He knew you’d come. You’d follow him. And he’d scold you for it anyway. Because he didn’t want you here. You were dangerous, unpredictable, though I suppose he knew you, so he knew which turns you’d take mentally. Fuck you, he thought almost weakly.

Footsteps, confident and echoing sounded from the hole of black, used as a sort of entrance. And there you were. Your hair pulled into a French braid which complimented your face shape, your skin so pale, and lips bitten-red. Your eyes as gorgeous as the day he met you. You were clad in a set of black smooth fighting leggings and a tight top, that did cruel things to his heart. Combat boots on your feet, and a sword across your back, and daggers hanging low on your hips. A few nips and scratches decorated your porcelain face and elegant hands.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said coldly.