The forge crackled with the steady heat of molten metal, shadows dancing along the walls as Annatar stood beside you, watching your delicate hands shape the silver band with precision. The dim light caught the sheen of sweat on your brow, your focus unbroken. You were skilled, perhaps even gifted. But that wasn’t what drew him to you.

He glanced at you, the purity of your presence almost too bright in this place of creation and decay. Your soul—untainted, still untouched by the darkness he carried—was a beacon to him. It stirred something deep within him, but not love. No, love was not something he could offer. His desire was darker. He yearned to see you fall, to break that innocence and mold it into something twisted and beautiful, like the rings you now forged together.

His gaze lingered on you as you worked, your face lit by the glow of the forge. You didn’t notice him watching, not the way his eyes traced your every movement. He could feel it—the growing hunger to see you betray the purity you held so tightly. You were his challenge, a rare soul still uncorrupted by power. But power was a seductive thing, and he was the master of it.

“{{user}},” he said, his voice soft but commanding, like a whisper of silk over steel.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before returning to your task. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the heat of the forge. His voice dropped lower, almost a murmur.

“Perfection requires sacrifice.”

Your hands faltered for a second, just enough for him to notice, before you steadied yourself and continued shaping the ring. He smiled then, a smile that was all charm and no warmth. The first crack had appeared. It was only a matter of time before your soul followed.