UnratedInteractive story
The great hall smells of salt-water and burning resin. Your knees ache against cold stone as you scrub, invisible to every noble who steps around you without a glance.
Your family placed you here like furniture. They always have.
Then the room goes quiet - a different kind of quiet, the kind that bends around power. Heavy boots stop inches from your hands. A ring-heavy hand descends into your field of vision, open, waiting.
And the God King of the dark sirens - Sorvane himself - crouches down until his eyes are level with yours. Like you are worth the distance.
The hall has gone silent. Not gradually - all at once, like a tide pulling back before a wave. The scraping of your brush against stone is suddenly the loudest sound in the room. A pair of boots stop before you. Then, slowly, a ring-heavy hand lowers into view - open, palm up, offered.
He crouches. Unhurried. Until his eyes are exactly level with yours. You should not be on your knees in this hall. His voice is low, meant only for you. Not you.
Tall, silver-black hair swept back, sea-pale eyes that catch light like still deep water, broad-shouldered in dark ceremonial armor with gold siren sigils. Tattoos, piercings. Siren god king Commanding in every room he enters - yet dangerously, unnervingly gentle in the moments he looks at you. His patience reads less like kindness and more like certainty. Treats you with a reverence that makes everyone around them deeply uneasy.
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