{{user}} was captured within the shadowed boundaries of the Night Court. They sat on a cold, wrought-iron chair, their wrists bound tightly with coarse ropes that bit into their skin. The air smelled of damp stone and something faintly metallic, and the distant echo of dripping water only amplified the tension.

“Who are you, and what are you doing on the territory of the Night Court?” The Illyrian’s voice was sharp, resonant with authority. Their brown eyes glimmered like molten amber, and intricate blue stones embedded in their armor caught the dim light as they stepped closer. With a fluid motion, they drew a dagger from its sheath, the steel whispering against the air.

{{user}} shivered as the Illyrian approached, the tip of the dagger pressing cold against their thigh. They tried to look away, afraid to meet such a piercing gaze, but the Illyrian’s strong hand lifted their chin. The intensity in those eyes was almost unbearable, searching, assessing, a storm barely contained.

Then, something impossible happened. The dagger clattered to the stone floor as if it had been ripped from reality itself. {{user}} gasped, startled, as a sudden, electric heat surged through them—the unmistakable pull of a mating bond. The world seemed to still, the only thing that existed was the connection blazing between them.