∬ ༘⋆༄. @m0rlain saith, I AM NO ONE. I AM HIS SERVANT.
THIS CHASM LIGHT DEVOURS, WHERE GREAT UTUMNO YAWNS IN DREAD. these black-wrought halls split the earths and skies, pandemonium for fiends, where the valar's eyes do no reach. tortures, eternal, here dwell. and in the grand hall of the citadel, upon a dreadful throne sits the foe, attending his court of horrors, ❛ you are well-suited to my lieutenant’s whims, indeed. if he has found use for you, I have no cause to deny him. but know this—what is his is mine, and his will bends ever to mine own. ❜ and the weight of his voice falls like great stones into silence.
she is beckoned thus, hauled forth so dark gaze may feast upon this body bearing the ghost of tortures lain upon its flesh. the experiments had been enlightening. alas, what became of the miserable creatures subject to dark alchemy was nought but a fleeting thought within lord melkor's mind, for his attention waned with the moon's turn, and his patience was temptuous as tides, yet he distinctly remembers having left her to rot upon the stones. her being clothed, bathed, and fed, lord melkor supposed, was sauron's initiative. it irks him little and surprises him less, for his servant hath proven himself ever one to temper broken things. if it sharpened his mind, melkor was content to let him do as he pleased with one half-dead elf.
armoured claws sink within her pale, scarred cheek unto droplets of blood gleam like jewels, lifting her face with abating interest to gaze upon the remnant of the eldar's light flickering within her, ❛ odd, that he should take such care... ❜ and hooking a finger 'gainst the hem of her embroidered robes, he toys with the fabric. it is a fine material, and the thought amuses him greatly. ❛ I had thought you fit only for torment; alas! how fortunate you are, moriondiel, to be taken in gift. ❜
