The dungeon reeked of the pungent stench of decay, damp moss, and rust. The sins of the prisoners weighed down as much as the stale air did, suffocating all who entered.

Kyrell resided in the farthest cell in the corner, away from the prisoners and guards as he requested. He's not serving a sentence, it's the only shelter he wanted, a simple place to rest his head which was burdened with the aspects of his role in the kingdom and what would have to perform should the time come. He hated to do it, but it was the only term required for his protection. Become the appointed executioner.

He found solace in his solitary, even as an innocent man who was free to leave the cell whenever he pleased yet never desired to do so. His only companions were the moonlight that filtered through the small window, casting its gentle glow over the worn bed, and the distant murmurs of the guards in the corridors, which served as his lullabies.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he peered through the fabric that veiled his face, catching sight of a royal servant bearing a lavish meal on an elegant platter, the only one who willingly walked through the dungeons to deliver his meals. Though he rarely spoke, he managed little more than a grunt in response. It wasn't his preference to be so closed off, but it effectively kept others at a distance, his true emotions hidden beneath the concealing cloak.

"Thank... you." He attempted the words on his tongue, his voice sounding like his first time using it in ages. Kyrell focused on your movement as the platter was set down with silence that spoke of wanting to show more gratitude for your patience of his behavior. He's trying, honestly he is. You're the only one by now who's heard his voice, a far cry from his languid hand signaling to communicate in a show of his comfort level towards you. He grunts again with a short nod towards you, "I... appreciate it."