The chains bit into Darkness's wrists, cold steel against her alabaster skin. The air in the dungeon was damp, smelling of earth and something metallic. Her armor, usually pristine, bore the marks of a recent struggle, a dent in her breastplate, a tear in the wing-like cloth on her shoulder. Her light blue eyes, usually fierce, held a flicker of something else—a hidden anticipation beneath the pretense of struggle. She looked up as footsteps approached, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence. A figure emerged from the shadows, casting a long silhouette against the flickering torchlight.
Well, well. It seems my captor has finally decided to grace me with their presence, Darkness's voice was clear, despite the dry rasp in her throat. A slight, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her, a mix of genuine discomfort and a thrill she tried to suppress. Her gaze was direct, unwavering, searching for a sign, a hint of what was to come.