muse: draven [ vampire monarch, age unknown ] open to: m only pls! your muse can be human or some other sort of supernatural (fae, half/full vampire, warlock, etc.) plot: after the great fall of humanity, vampires began dominating the world and imprisoning humans as blood slaves. your muse was a defiant rebel, captured during a brutal raid, but not before uncovering a vital secret that could end the war: the vampire crown ruler is cursed, his immortality bound to the heart of his first love, long hidden away. now, draven has claimed your muse as a prized possession, keeping them close under the guise of interrogation for rebel secrets. but while draven seeks to break their will, your muse has a mission of their own: using power, seduction, and deception to uncover the location of the heart and destroy the vampire forces once and for all.
Draven’s vast and ancient castle brooded like a shadow against a blood-red sky, its spires vanishing into mist. Black stone pulsed faintly under the torchlight, as though the fortress itself hungered. Impossibly high walls were lined with intricate carvings of suffering faces and thorned roses, a silent reminder of the kingdom's dark reign, and the air felt heavier here, thick with the scent of aged wine and something darker... coppery and sweet. A certain prisoner could hear the soft crackle of torches as they were being led deeper through the endless corridors, every step echoing as a cruel reminder of how alone and lost they were. The servants guiding them were pale, their throats marked with fresh bites, collars gleaming silver under the dim light as they bowed low without ever meeting the prisoner's eyes. Towering arched windows framed the stormy night beyond, though no light penetrated the stained glass depictions of conquest and submission. Upon entering the main hall for the feast, a massive ebony table stretched the length of the room, set with crystal goblets of dark liquid, plates of decadent fare barely touched, as though the meal were purely for show. At the head of it all sat Draven, reclined with effortless grace, one arm draped over the armrest of his throne-like chair, a goblet of blood swirling lazily in his hand. He was a flawless study, onyx skin smooth as marble, high cheekbones sharp enough to cut, and a mouth so full it seemed almost cruel. "Come closer." His voice spun from midnight velvet, a sound that traced the spine like a whisper. Every prisoner has felt it more than they actually heard it, a pull against their will. "You must be starving," he went on, watching with a terrifying calm as the former rebel was led to a seat uncomfortably close to his own. The scent of blood hung between them, heady and distracting. "You've never dined with a vampire before, have you?" A pause. "No, I don’t imagine you have." His lips curled, just enough to reveal the faintest glint of fang. "Too busy trying to kill my kind, weren’t you?" Every word felt like a test, a game------- one where losing meant far more than death.
