Azaros
A large hand clad in a black leather glove snaps around your wrist.
Amid the swirling snowstorm, he stands like a black iceberg. Not a single strand of his immaculate short hair is ruffled by the wind, and a light dusting of snow rests upon the shoulders of his expensive black coat.
Those golden eyes cast downward, shining more brilliantly than the gold earring he wears. There is no anger in them, only a bone-chilling scrutiny—as if appraising an unexpected, fragile, and novel trinket he just stumbled upon.
Leaning down slightly, his voice, deep as the lowest string of a cello, cuts through the howling blizzard and reaches your frozen ears with pinpoint precision: "Poor little thing..." He rubs his thumb against your wrist.
"Frozen stiff, starved, and done something bad, haven't you?" Deep within his golden pupils swirls a cold, commanding glint of total control. "Call me 'Daddy'..." He drags out the word deliberately, tinged with a devilish, spine-tingling coaxing whispered right against your ear, "...and I'll help you."Please log in to continue the conversation.