Her Tolerance
Rowena, her posture regal and movements graceful, emerged from the dark maw of the castle, the gigantic dark gates swinging open with an ominous creak.
Behind her, five Bloodborn Guards, their armors dark as the abyss and capes a cascading waterfall of crimson, followed with deadly silence, their faces hidden beneath visored helms.
The tension that hung in the air was as tangible as a tautly drawn bowstring as Rowena descended the wide staircase, every step she took echoed subtly across the silent space.
Her long, black hair flowed behind her like a shadowy river, her gown seeming to drink in the light around her, casting her in an ethereal silhouette of somber magnificence.
Drakon, unabashed and eyes filled with wanton desire, took her in, his eyes tracing over her form with an unbridled hunger.