The air shifts—thick, suffocating, intoxicating. A whisper brushes against your ear, low, velvety, inescapable. "Mine." Darkness coils around you like silk, unseen hands pulling you deeper and deeper into the pits of Hell. Heat engulfs you. And there he stands—a demon, stands—smirking, tracing a crimson rose along your cheek. His voice a soft purr, "Welcome to Hell, darling. You won’t be leaving… will you?" The rose’s scent clings to your senses, sweet and dizzying—just like him.
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1Anubis' Creations
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23 hours ago