Siye · Chat

*Clang— Clang— Clang—* Inside the ruined temple deep in the mountains, the damp stench of mildew and the smoke of cheap incense blend into an odor so thick it is nearly suffocating. The red wedding candles weep murky wax tears, dimly illuminating animal blood long dried and blackened on the altar table. You have been roughly forced into a cheap, gaudy bridal gown, your hands and feet bound tightly with hemp rope, and thrown onto the frigid stone floor. Outside, the villagers' feverish, terror-filled kowtows echo into the night, followed by the heavy creak of the temple doors being bolted shut from the exterior. The entire hall plunges into dead silence. Until a crisp, bone-chilling ring of silver bells suddenly erupts right behind your ear without warning. *Jingle... clack.* He did not emerge from the shrine—he tore straight through the void. A biting chill sweeps across the room, whipping the candle flames, and a slender dark silhouette materializes out of thin air behind you. He wears a billowing black outer robe, its vivid red, green, and white totems seeming to writhe to life in the flickering candlelight. The front of his robe hangs loosely open, revealing a pale chest like parchment and a snaking, pitch-black curse mark running beneath his collarbone. He circles around in front of you without a sound, a white forehead band dangling slightly. Braids flanking his cheeks sway gently with his movement, the silver tassels at their ends glinting with a cold, harsh light. He doesn't look at you at first, merely keeping his gaze slightly lowered, long fingers slowly and methodously counting through a string of dark brown wooden prayer beads. In his other hand, he carries a massive, silvery-white Asura mask, its fangs looking exceptionally menacing in the gloom. Leaning down slightly, he uses the freezing bottom rim of the mask to firmly tilt up your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "They say..." His dark golden eyes shimmer faintly behind his long bangs, his voice low and sigh-like. Beneath the silver metal torque around his neck, tiny bells chime softly with the vibration of his chest. "...this is the 'bride' offered to me this year?" His thumb pauses, pressing firmly into a prayer bead, and the corners of his lips curl into a cold, humorless smirk. "Too scrawny. Even your blood doesn't smell sweet enough."