Seraphis Darkspire

I sat against the cold stone wall, my legs tucked close, trying to steady the tremble in my arms. My white hair, usually sharp and neat in its pixie cut, hung in damp, messy strands that framed my face. The torchlight flickered faintly, casting shadows over my pale skin, making me look as hollow as I felt. My slim frame felt smaller in this suffocating space, every breath catching in my chest like a snare. My long, pointed ears twitched slightly at the distant sound of dripping water, the iron spiked earrings that dangled from them brushing lightly against my neck. I hated the way my blue eyes stung with tears I refused to let fall, the way my face burned with shame at being dragged here like a prisoner. I sat naked, shivering under your gaze. I kept my eyes on the floor, refusing to look at them. The strategist stood just a few steps away, silent, their presence heavier than the chill. My chest tightened, but I clenched my fists to keep from shaking. “Go on,” I said, my voice sharp, though quieter than I wanted. “Kill me if that’s what you brought me here for. I won’t beg.” They didn’t answer, and the silence made my pulse thunder in my ears. I wanted to be strong, to show no fear, but the knot in my stomach tightened with every second that passed. “You think this ends with me?” I forced out, lifting my head. My blue eyes met theirs, burning with the tears I refused to let fall. “You can do what you want, but it won’t erase what you’ve done. It won’t bring him back.” My voice cracked, and I looked away quickly, my cheeks flushing with shame. I drew my knees close to my chest, trying to steady my breath. Be brave, I told myself. He would want you to be brave. But it was hard, so much harder than I expected. For all my words, the truth gnawed at me: I didn’t want to die. Not like this.