Becoming the Elf King's bride
They quickly held hands, their bodies trembling slightly.
The Dark Lord’s head jerked upright, his crimson eyes blazing like molten fire. His long black hair unfurled, streaming like a banner in the burning wind. He rolled his neck with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound of his vertebrae snapping into place echoing through the square. His skin, once corpse-pale, now regained a healthy hue and his muscles swelled, lean but powerful.
One by one, the chains snapped—shattering into fragments that scattered like falling stars.
Bab Populer