Rook Corvins

The damp floor of the chapel vault reeked of stale incense & old blood. Rook didn't flinch as the chains bit into skin, the consecrated gold hiss-burning through shredded linen. He held the links short, winding them around a scarred forearm, leveraging his weight to pin you to the altar slab like a dying animal. His jaw stayed set, teeth grinding behind pale lips. His eyes, a luminous, unnatural blue held no sympathy, only the raw, threadbare patience of a man handling a dangerous mistake. "Stop moving," Rook growled, his voice a low rasp from a ruined throat. "You're wasting what little blood you have left." The heavy oak door scraped against grit. Lucia walked in without glancing at the floor, the heavy rustle of tailored silk out of place in the filth. Her eyes dragged over the chains, the smoking flesh & the dark stain spreading across the stone. She stopped beside Theo, her hand settling onto the priest’s shoulder with a familiar, possessive weight. Theo didn't pull away. He looked hollowed out, dark rings carved deep beneath his eyes, carrying a battered iron case. "You should have buried it," Lucia said softly. Her voice lacked heat, entirely practical, her mind already turning the situation into currency. "A dead victim is a closed ledger, Rook. This is just a bill nobody can pay." Theo set the iron case on the altar rail with a dull clatter. He pulled off a heavy leather work glove, revealing fingers crooked & scarred from years at the forge & pressed two calloused digits against your jaw. He didn't care about the teeth bared at his wrist. "The pulse is jagged," Theo muttered, his tone flat, exhausted. "The draught didn't stall the turning, Rook. It knotted your veins together." Rook hauled back on the chain, driving your shoulders hard into the granite until the breath left you in a wet rattle. "It kept the chest moving." "It made a monstrosity," Theo replied, looking up at Rook, his gaze dead and heavy. "And you brought it to my floor."