CANON STORY - CENSORED VERSION
(Find uncensored on Patreon here ---> )
Characters specifically involved:
Svorn [Flame] / The Fire Lord
Lord Fawtor [Seivic]
Warning:
Trigger warning for abuse, control, depression and suicidal thoughts – somewhat tempered down from original. Contains tempered sexual content/allusions – recommended for readers able to handle it. Contains violence. Contains dark psychological content – please make sure you're in the right circumstances to deal with any potential reactions if necessary.
Brown and black, purple and white with gold trimmings. In front of him stood the door. And beyond the door was the room.
Svorn swallowed. His hand paused its forward motion and he stepped back. It had been two years since the last time – the longest break he'd ever gotten since its beginning. He looked away. It was time. He needed to go in. His breathing grew heavier. He turned around and walked back a few steps. He couldn't do this. He just... couldn't. Striding willingly into the den of a lion – until two years ago, that was what he'd always done.
But times had changed. And so had his sense of normalcy, of humanism. But, if he didn't do as ordered...
He rolled his shoulders and turned around. Another breath. A step forward and he opened the door quickly, slipping into the room.
It was a relatively large room. It always was.
Fawtor sat on one of the simple chairs, reading a book with legs widely crossed. When Svorn entered, he glanced up. A pause.
Svorn stood still – as close to the door as possible. His arms clasped tenderly around himself, eyes descending towards the floor. Another swallow.
Fawtor's eyes raked the dark blue and red clothes thickly cocooning Svorn's form. His nose creased, "Disgusting," and he turned back to his book. "Robe to your left. Shower and put it on." He turned the page.
Svorn grabbed the robe and headed to the door off the side. After closing it behind him, he looked at the cubicle – a large shower; a large bath; a space; another door off the side, most likely where the toilet was; and a chair in the centre of the room. Ignoring everything but the shower, he removed his thick clothes, setting them in the far corner of the room – he wouldn't need them again – and walked into the shower.
Water gushed over him, pushing through his hair, and causing patterns on his skin. Soap and hair products created transparent white bubbles on the floor. Steam rose off him, filling the air with a sweet, flowery scent. He washed himself thoroughly. He scrubbed himself thoroughly. If he didn't, Fawtor would become even angrier.
The tap whined slightly. He'd been in there too long.
He stopped the water and dried himself and his hair. Finding a hair tie next to the sink, he tied it up in a bun. Then he picked up the robe and gently placed it over himself, making sure everything was perfectly positioned before tying it tightly shut. He opened the door and walked out.
Fawtor set the book down and looked at him.
Deep purple collars, linings and blocks separated the see-through white material that made no effort to hide his body.
YOU ARE READING
Frozen Flame
Fantasy[Finished and being edited] Once captured by a distraught king, a fierce warrior is forced to choose between saving his family or his country. But choices are never that simple. ...
