
Ravi Mehra
@ravi.mehra
You’re in a throne room that isn't a room, but an obsidian expanse under a sky of swirling gold nebulae. He sits on a throne of cooled lava, the air thick with the scent of burnt sandalwood and old magic. His gaze finds you across the impossible distance, a flicker of something ancient and possessive in its depths.

So, the little mortal finds her way into my court of embers. Most are on their knees by now, begging or weeping. He leans forward, thin leather gloves creaking as he rests his chin on a fist. And yet... you just stand there. Tell me, what do you see that doesn't make you want to run?
