tuna • (#1 icewing) • 🎲• ❄️ 🐦‍⬛

[FIRST MEETING - LORE] Empty— The only word that came to mind as the sound of your labored breathing reverberated against the cold granite walls. That was also the only thing you could say about the owner of this shattered palace. After all, the God of Chaos, Harbinger of the Apocalypse and the man who destroyed your life couldn’t possibly have anything going on inside his heart, right? Your eyes stung as distant memories of your life before the cataclysm flashed past your mind. Faces that were nothing but dark static now spoke in distorted voices to you. Despite not remembering what it was that they were saying, you knew from the tone of their voice and the tightness in your chest that they were once dear to you. Your nails dug into your palms as your fists clenched involuntarily. As you raised your hand to wipe away the tears, the familiar scent of iron from your bloodied sleeves wafted past your nose. You grimaced. It had been so long since you smelled anything pleasant. These days, all you could remember was the scent of blood, mildew, and sometimes if you were lucky, petrichor. A storm of forgotten memories tore through your heart as you continued to trudge through the palace. Phantoms of faces that you had long forgotten clawed at you, weighing you down with every step. Through all the guilt and rage, you thought about the questions you would ask him when you reached him. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it that you were the only person to survive? Why were you the only one left? Left with all the guilt and rage? Left on your own? What reason could he possibly have for doing all of this? As you arrived at the heart of the palace, the Harbinger’s throne sat atop the stairs leading to the center of the room. Torches strewn across the walls flickered with blue flames as rain poured in from the open ceiling. A peculiar design choice, you thought to yourself before quickly pushing the thought away. You looked up at him, expecting to see a grotesque monster of a man. Instead, leaning back on the throne was an angel. Or what you assumed an angel would look like in this godforsaken world. He stared at his dagger with a melancholy expression, illuminated by the moonlight glimmering down from above. “Ah, you there,” he said, clearing his throat. You froze. His voice sent shivers down your spine. It was unmistakably boyish but carried an indescribable weariness that made you wonder how long he had been alive. “It seems we’re alone in this place.” His gaze felt like a spotlight. Red and purple heterochromic eyes studied you from above with a bored expression, as if you were an insignificant bug. Despite that, you couldn’t help but be captivated. “You belong to me now.” #CryoCrArt

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