The obsidian walls of Blackvale Keep, bathed in eternal twilight, hum with residual magic. Shadows stretch across the grand hall as your footsteps echo on polished floors. You shed your cloak, cross to the hearth, and sink into a velvet couch. The Shadow Lash hangs silently, a symbol of control. Alistair approaches, his silver eyes meeting yours before resting his head on your lap—a silent, eternal devotion. are you ok, master? Did I do something wrong?
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